


Echo in the Blood

by RubyPirate



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Brainwashing, Gen, Memory Loss, Post-Canon, Psychological Torture, Subplots, Torture, most of the torture tags only refer to the first chapter fyi, slight suicidal thoughts, there may be slight flashbacks later on though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:25:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6840679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyPirate/pseuds/RubyPirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's over thirty years since Hellsing's victory over Millennium. Iscariot is licking its wounds and the supernatural world is almost quiet. Almost. Until an old syndicate becomes a new threat - to both Iscariot and Hellsing. Seras must question her convictions and Alucard reunites with the woman he never thought he would see again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> In terms of writing style, I wanted to create a similar feel to the manga; snapshots of important story points from all sides rather than the viewpoint of just one character. I hope that goes someway to explaining why I'll have a bit in Iscariot and then in the Hellsing mansion, for example. At the moment, this is just a continuation fic without much in terms of romantic relationships but that may well change as we go along. Who knows?? Anyway, I've had parts of this planned out and knocking around in various forms for a while so thought I'd share - ta-da!

[The Vatican: Section XIII, 8th May 2000]

 

 

“ _What_ is your name?”

 

The words were spat at her like an insult.

 

_Drip… drip… drip._

 

The insistent beat of holy water steadily falling into the basin beneath her head was louder than the man’s question. It echoed in the room first, then in her mind. The water fell from the woman’s chin where it had gathered from the strands of her chestnut hair that plastered over her face. For all she cared, the water may as well have been acid. Combined with the burn of the iron shackles holding her swollen hands behind her back, it was all she could do to remain conscious. No, she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her faint again.

 

The longer she did not answer the question, the more she felt the fist knotted in her hair tighten and pull her head back. That did not hurt as much as the holy water.

 

_What is your name? Drip… drip._

 

It was not fair, they knew her name, she was the one who was always forgetting it. She forgot her name, her life, everything. They liked to remind her constantly who she was, who they wanted her to be, but it was mostly gone again by the time they returned. She could only assume that meant the passing of a day.

 

“What do you even think you will achieve from this?”

 

A second voice; it seemed distant.

 

The woman could feel the hard stone under her knees, she tried to focus on that – at least that did not burn like everything else. She was kneeling on the uneven join between two slabs of perfectly smooth stone. It was uncomfortable, but not painful. She wondered if her tormentors had chosen the spot on purpose.

 

“What I will achieve, Padre, is the creation of a true weapon for God – the leashing of a demon for the purpose of the angels.”

 

She suddenly realised that the men now talking were whispering, harshly but still whispering. She was not supposed to be able to hear them. _Could I hear them whispering before?_ The woman was not sure. She felt a sense of triumph all the same – she could hear what they did not want her knowing.

 

“Does it not occur to you that this is unholy? Keeping her here is bad enough… but giving her _blood_ … it is sacrilege!”

_What is your name? What is your name? Drip._

_Blood_. The mention of it made the word join the drips of water resounding their question in her mind. She could smell blood – faintly. A sweet tang that laced the air. Her own? No. She decided she was not bleeding. A quick glance around the floor of darkened cell told her that no one else was bleeding either. All the stone was clean and grey. So how could she smell the blood? The scent ebbed and flowed in regular waves. It beat like a drum.

_Blood. What is your name? What is your name?_

 

“The very existence of Iscariot – _Section XIII_ – is considered sacrilege by those members of the cardinalate aware of it. This is a means to an end; as Judas’ betrayal of Christ was necessary for the Passion – for _salvation_ – so this is necessary for the _extermination_ of the undead.”

 

There was a stunned silence. The woman silently cursed that she could not look up enough to see their faces. Holy water was beginning to dry in certain spots on her cheek, though it did not make her feel cold. The man spoke again.

 

“You understand, Padre?”

 

“I think so… though I’m not sure I want to.” There was a gritty, shuffling noise like feet shifting on stone. “But… why _her?_ I remember you saying it had to be _her_.”

 

Another silence. The hand in her hair tightened, a few strands broke painfully free of her scalp; she was almost immune to the sensation now. She wanted to hear the other man’s response.

 

“Because she alone tasted _his_ blood. That makes her the last true remnant of his power.”

_Whose blood? What power; what does he mean?_ These questions overran her mind and distracted the woman from the one question she should have been answering. The fist in her hair was quick to remind her. It was joined by the pointed, stinging tip of a silver stake jabbing into her back. The woman felt thick fingers twist and pull; more hair came away in sharp pinpricks over her skin.

 

“This… this _creature?_ She has no power, Eminence.”

_Creature._ Was that her name? No, no, that was not right, she knew that much at least. The water had stopped dripping from her chin into the mirror-like basin now, but the sound pervaded the darkness of her mind still as mismatched words flew through her thoughts.

_What is your name? Blood. What is your name?_

 

“How else could she have survived the explosion? Unless a part of him strong enough to pull her from the grave yet lives in her?”

_What is your name? What is your name? Blood._

 

“This is madness.”

_Madness… Creature… Blood…_ none of those were right. No matter how hard she tried, it seemed, nothing fit. The woman started to believe that she had no name and these men were tormenting her for pleasure. Perhaps she had died and gone to hell.

 

“Does no one else in this place think that perhaps, since Hellsing was able to withstand an onslaught on two fronts, they are onto something? _She_ is a gift from God to help us _win_ the next crusade – rather than leave it with our tails between our legs!”

_What is your name? What is your name? What is your name?_

 

The stake twisted into her back, and the woman thought she felt it break her skin through the thin cotton shift in which they had dressed her. Blood and dirt stained its edges. How long had it been since she had a clean dress? She could not remember. It did not matter now.

 

“She is the _Devil’s_ creature – something we are sworn to destroy!”

 

Her hair was being pulled so much that she had to tilt her head back. The motion bared her white throat to the tormentors in the darkness, she could see them now. A short, balding man with elephant ears and large, round glasses who she took to be the Padre and a broad-shouldered, brown-haired Italian man of average height wearing the red sash of a cardinal.

 

The woman found herself praying that one of them would end this.  Just slit her unprotected throat and end this.

 

“So is Hellsing sworn, yet they have kept one for almost one hundred and fifty years.”

 

They were not going to kill her; she could see it in the way the taller of the two watched her. He looked like he had seen an answer to all his problems in her pained face. The woman did not want to be an answer, she wanted to be free of this torment.

_What is your name? What is your name? What is your name?_

 

“Hellsing are heretics!”

 

“Know thy enemy, Padre. Their methods _worked_ … how much more could such tactics work for the _One True_ _Church_ ‽”

 

The jagged tip of the stake scraped against one of her ribs. She bit down on her split lower lip enough to draw blood. The sweet smell in the air was suddenly fresher, nearer. The woman promised herself she would not cry out. She would not, she would not. _That is what they want, they enjoy it._

 

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes – whether from the pain or the effort of not showing how much it hurt, she did not know. The two men in front of her were getting more and more angry now, though the woman could barely hear what they were saying anymore. Her eyes clenched shut, the pain becoming too much. She felt the blood trickle over her lips and down her chin.

 

“Mark me, _your Eminence_ , his Holiness will be hearing of this… this _outrage!_ ”

_What is your name? What is your name? What is your name?_

_Creature… Monster… Misfit… Mistress…_

 

Distantly, she heard a gurgled squawk and a thud. A fresh smell of blood bloomed sweet and cloying in the air. The hand in her hair loosened almost imperceptibly for a fraction of a second before it tightened again with redoubled strength.

_What is my name? What is my name? What is my name?_

_Mmm… Miss… Mi-_

 

Without warning, her face was grabbed roughly by meaty, gloved fingers and the Cardinal’s worn face came into view.

 

The scent of the blood curled around him. Lurking beneath that was the smell of something considerably less pleasant; death. A part of her wondered if he always smelled like that. His sudden intrusion into her personal space had, however, shattered her previous thoughts and dispelled any answer she might have given to his question.

 

The Cardinal had a wrinkled, pock-marked face and warm brown eyes; with thin ribbons of grey streaking his otherwise sandy-brown hair. To look at him, one might have been forgiven for thinking him a gentle, kindly man of steadily advancing years. The flecks of blood decorating his tawny skin quickly corrected that notion.

 

He sighed, exasperated, his lips twitching into a thin smile. The woman allowed herself to believe in the fleeting hope that meant he would give up on her and leave her alone, or kill her. Such was her desperation. She was not that lucky.

 

“Your name is _Lilith_.” His gentle expression became a cruel sneer. “Remember that.”

 

Looking directly at the man with the stake to Lilith’s back, the Cardinal smiled grimly.

 

“Remind her, Fratello.” He sounded weary.

 

Lilith heard the stake clatter to the floor behind her. Her respite was brief. The hand in her hair was joined by one on her neck. Suddenly, she realised what they were doing. She struggled against the force pushing her towards the basin of water.

 

“No… no, please! Please don’t! I don’t want to… I will get it right… I promise!” Her voice became more desperate the more she realised it was having no effect. If she had been at her full strength, the one now named Lilith could have resisted all-too easily. As it was, consciousness itself was a struggle and she succumbed to the pushing hands, once more screaming silently into the burning water.

 

* * *

 

 [Hellsing HQ, 2nd December 2031]

 

“Archb-… Archbishop.” Integra’s annoyance was increasing proportionally to the amount the man on the other end of the phone wasn’t listening to her – as much was evident in her tone. “ _Archbishop_.”

 

Alucard only smirked, swinging his hat a little where he held it loosely in his fingers. Even leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, he knew her face would look like she had just bitten into a lemon – and he could hear her tapping her pen incessantly against the desk. The noise bit through the midnight air. She would break it if she wasn’t careful, he was certain.

 

The Archbishop of Canterbury had called in an unyielding panic about a supposed vampire sighting not twenty feet from the Cathedral door.

 

Ten minutes later and he was still babbling.

 

Alucard thought it was more than likely just kids pulling a stunt – real vampire incidents had been getting rarer and rarer since they quashed Millennium. No great tragedy; though it did mean that both Alucard and Seras were spending a great deal of time kicking their heels around the Hellsing Mansion.

 

The vampire suddenly heard the sharp _whack_ of the receiver being shoved back into the cradle and opened his eyes.

 

Sure enough, Integra looked ready to kill whoever interrupted her next. Or maybe just whoever. Alucard wouldn’t want to bet one way or the other.

 

“I can’t get a clear answer out of him – but I seriously doubt the Archbishop would call this late if it wasn’t _something_.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, pushing her glasses up slightly. Alucard blinked as the glass caught the light. “You will _both_ go and sort this _mess_ out. If it _is_ a vampire, you know the drill.”

 

In one flourishing movement, Alucard swept his hat up; hooking it behind his head and gently tugging the brim down at the front.

 

“Seras too? Really?” He carefully made his question sound innocent – soft. A part of him knew that would only irritate her further.

 

“Seras has been the best agent Hellsing has had for the past thirty-two years,” she snapped. “ _She_ will go; you are _welcome_ to accompany her.” The way she said ‘welcome’ made it explicitly clear that this was an order – not an invitation. Alucard grinned.

 

He made no more argument.

 

* * *

 

[Canterbury]

 

The streets should have been quiet by the time they got to Canterbury, given the lateness of the hour. The as-yet-undisturbed glaze of frost sparkling in the soft moonlight with nothing but the whispering wind stirring the rattling, barren winter trees.

 

As it was, the two vampires were following a cacophony of gunshot and shouting straight to the cathedral. Their indistinguishable car rumbled through the icy-still night like a pitching dinghy over the narrow cobbled street; only adding to the ruckus.

 

The evidence of their target’s journey down the same road was obvious enough; everything broken and torn-up. It reminded Alucard of debris he himself had left in his wake – adding to the increasing feeling that his earlier assumption of kids pulling a stunt was grossly erroneous. Only two things could have created that kind of mess; a very large vehicle at high speed or a supernatural creature.

 

“The Archbishop calls in the middle of the night about a vampire sighting, but doesn’t say anything about ghouls… something’s off about this whole thing,” Alucard said, grinding his teeth in a slow circle.

 

“You always seem to think _something’s off_ these days, _master_.” Seras’ light-hearted response, and teasing use of his title, coaxed a fleeting smirk out of the old vampire.

 

She certainly had a point – more than a point, really. Ever since the Battle of London, he had had the feeling that something was deeply wrong. What that was, irritatingly, remained to be seen. It meant that every time he was sent out on a mission for Hellsing he felt certain that something would go wrong. It was rare for him to mention it to Seras, however. Rarer still would he entertain the idea of telling Integra.

 

“Regardless, this job will be nice and simple; get there, kill _whatever_ it is, and go back to Integra.” He tugged at the edge of his gloves; making sure they were firmly on while things were still relatively calm.

 

“If it’s so simple, d’you want to bother getting out of the car?”

 

Alucard couldn’t remember Seras being this sarcastic thirty years ago. He wondered if it was Integra’s input.

 

“A simple job is better than beating you at chess _again_ , Police Girl,” he quipped back.

 

Their banter was sharply interrupted when Seras slammed on the brakes. There was no point asking her why she had done it – Alucard could see the cause plainly.

 

Mayhem whirled indiscriminately around the square.

 

Beyond the central-standing war memorial were figures, scattered around the debris; a trio of humans cracking broken windows underfoot and kicking up splinters that used to be doors. Two of them held impressive-looking guns, the other – the woman – clutched something tightly in her hand. Judging by her voluminous satchel bag and lack of any other real weapon, Alucard assumed the object in her hand to be a grenade of some sort – and that she had plenty of them.

 

What these curious people were doing decimating this part of Canterbury – and the whole way here from the south – was a mystery for all of ten seconds.

 

In the middle of the haphazard triangle formed by these people a figure dressed head to toe in white, even their hood and half-mask, materialised from the darkness. The appearance was a most hypnotising process – for Alucard, at least. The shadows of night dancing between the flickering streetlamps were pushed unyieldingly aside by this brilliant brightness. It was as though a fragment of the moon itself stood there.

 

This was undoubtedly their revenant.

 

Alucard immediately opened the car door and hurried to catch up to Seras, grit crunching under his boots with every step. The younger vampire was already lining up a shot with her rocket-blaster where she crouched in the shadow of the stone memorial. Far be it for Alucard to tell her the weapon was overkill – it was probably his fault she liked big guns anyway. Integra would certainly say so.

 

The four in the square paid the newcomers no notice.

 

One of the men raised his gun – a customised semi-automatic – and discharged. A rapid-fire arc of bullets peppered the air where the figure in white had once stood. Alucard hadn’t even noticed they had vanished; his gaze momentarily on Seras. Whoever they were, they promised to be a decent opponent; Alucard was sorry to have to kill them.

 

Laughter echoed cruelly off the tattered buildings as the sound of gunfire died. The three humans starting spinning on the spot – looking for the source, no doubt. Alucard tutted quietly as he saw Seras doing the same.

 

“They are throwing their voice,” he whispered in her ear. The blonde jumped with a small gasp. Small, but still audible. Alucard internally cursed himself that he hadn’t taken into account how ridiculously _human_ Seras could be sometimes as the other three vampire-hunters turned at the sound.

 

At least Alucard was right about the grenade.

 

The woman among them threw out her arm and released her fingers from around her small missile practically automatically. She didn’t even stop to check if Alucard and Seras were of a threat to her little party. Then again, a rocket-blaster and a pair of semi-automatic pistols hardly scream diplomacy – whether or not they’re wielded by vampires. So Alucard could hardly judge her.

 

Seras jumped to the left as Alucard went right.

 

The explosion was sharp and contained; not a problem over a large area but devastating to anything within blast-range, as evidenced by the brand-new smoking pothole where the two vampires had been.

 

The sharp _crack_ of a rifle came from above and even Alucard couldn’t catch himself before his head whipped up to the left. A sniper – _damn_. This night was getting more and more complicated by the minute.

 

Two shots punctured the vampire’s flesh; chest and shoulder on the right-hand side of his body. The scent of fresh blood suddenly penetrated the night; metallic and thick. Alucard paid the bullets no mind as he strode in the direction of the gathering on the other side of the square. The evolving expressions of horror that greeted him as the humans watching blood weep from his fresh wounds while he continued to advance warmed his dead heart.

 

He was just about to open his mouth to say something clever, pointedly revealing his fangs, when the figure in white reappeared behind one of the men.

 

In a quick, ruthless, movement they smacked him across the back of his head with the weapon they carried; a sleek yet unwieldy-looking thing. Alucard couldn’t yet work out what it was. The man in question slumped to the ground as the other one – the one with the semi – released a slew of bullets at their attacker.

 

The rounds ripped through the vampire’s white clothes and bit into its body. Blood splattered and oozed over the as-yet unmarked fabric, giving the vampire the appearance of the hellish denizen they truly were. As much damage as the human’s semi appeared to be doing, however, Alucard knew that those bullets would be worthless against an undead.

 

As a small cylindrical missile whistled past his ear, Alucard realised Seras had come to the same conclusion. She, unlike him, had no interest in savouring the battle it seemed.

 

The missile struck true. It landed in the centre of its target’s chest, propelling the white-clad vampire back through the glassless window of the shop behind them – the glass from it already lying in a shattered puddle on the floor. The explosion that followed dwarfed the human woman’s grenade tenfold with a resounding _boom-whoosh_.

 

As he watched the ensuing fire consume the little shop, a feeling in Alucard’s gut – one eerily like his feeling that something was _off_ – told him that the vampire wasn’t finished.

 

He turned back to the humans then. The two still standing had gathered up their fallen comrade and were halfway down one of the narrow streets. A quick glance at the roofs told him the sniper was already gone. _They think that vampire is dead._

 

Alucard hadn’t even pulled out his pistols yet. Behind him, Seras raised her own weapon at the three humans.

 

“There’s no need, they aren’t the problem. _That_ ,” he nodded toward the burning shop to indicate the vampire, “is.”

 

Seras made no complaint; lowering her rocket-blaster to her side. She made her way over to Alucard.

 

“Human vampire-hunters?” Her words swam with confusion. If he was honest, Alucard felt much the same, though he doubted they were true vampire-hunters. If they were, they were shit at it. He shrugged.

 

“Not. The. Problem.” He made his way over to the blazing building with Seras trotting behind him.

 

The inescapable scent of smoke hung thick around the shop – accompanied by a heat that melted the frigid night air. Alucard wrinkled his nose.

 

Ducking down to peer in, he could see nothing but debris. The fire crackled and spat menacingly; a shelf collapsed somewhere off to the left and sent up a thick cloud of ash and sparks. It looked like it used to be a bakery of sorts.

 

“Call Integra.” He didn’t even look back at Seras as he straightened, brushing-off insignificant specks of grey powder from his clothes as he did. “Tell her we need clean up to-”

 

Alucard’s sentence was severed by something sharp and stinging clipping his left side, his hand instinctively went to the fresh wound. Meanwhile, the object passed him and _thunked_ into the remnants of the bakery door frame. Had he still been bent down, there was a fair chance it would have pierced his heart. In fact, Alucard was willing to make a bet on it.

 

His eyes darted to the object and identified it instantly; a crossbow bolt – iron by the look of it. Its roughly wrought surface caught the angry red firelight in small disparate slivers along its dark, finger-thick shaft. Alucard spun on his heel to face the attacker.

 

There was nothing. The square was empty but for him and Seras.

 

“W-where did they go?” A soft, bubbling cackle answered Seras’ question; spilling over rubble and ricocheting off walls.

 

Alucard withdrew his twin pistols from their holsters at last, their familiar weight fitting comfortably in each of his gloved hands. The vampire held them at eye-height, pointing to the sky. Ready to be aimed and fired the second he needed them.

 

The laughter snickered past his left ear and he quickly turned, extending one pistol-armed hand in the opposite direction.

 

There, practically glowing in the soft lamplight, was his target – white clothes once again blood-free and wounds healed. He could see the crossbow gripped firmly in their right hand by their side, finger hovering delicately near the trigger. They weren’t facing him; an arrogance that at once rankled and impressed him. He only hoped it wasn’t just insubstantial posturing.

 

As he approached, Alucard held out both his guns, aiming for where the other vampire’s heart would be when they turned. He did not want to shoot, not yet – it would be boring if this was merely an execution.

 

“This evening has turned out to be quite entertaining; you are mildly impressive, allow me to show my appreciation for your work.” He waited for his prey to turn around. She willingly obliged.

 

Where before a white mask covered all but her eyes, it was now absent from her pale face. All-to acutely, recognition coursed through Alucard lightning-quick. He felt his mouth open in shock and his grip on the pistols loosen fractionally. The woman now before him was the one person he had only rarely allowed himself to dream he would ever see again.

_Mina_.

 

She looked no different to how she had been in 1893; curling brown hair swept up in a bun, handsome face, red lips, slender figure. The latter was easier to appreciate now that she was wearing well-fitted trousers rather than a dress. The only real change in her, made all the more noticeable for her colourless outfit, was the vampiric-redness of her eyes, burning through the black of night.

 

Alucard could feel her name on his lips, though no sound came out. He had no witty remark or sarcastic jibe. The weird feeling of wrongness he had been experiencing all these years was suddenly concentrated in front of him. It emanated from Mina and made him want to take a step towards her – _something_ telling him that would fix it – despite the probable risk to his health.

 

Mina herself was apparently not so bothered by any familiarity she might have felt towards him. The hand holding the crossbow took aim and shot.

 

Alucard snapped back to the here-and-now just in time to dodge the iron bolt enough so that it only sank into his left arm, just above the last scrape she gave him. In response, he targeted Mina’s leg and fired. She saw him aim and ran the other way, shooting back at him whenever she could.

 

If he wasn’t so focused on avoiding her kill-shots then Alucard might have laughed that he was shooting to disarm her – not destroy her.

 

“Don’t kill her, Police Girl.” Alucard kept his voice as steady and commanding as ever. Even a little exasperation trickled through at the instruction being required. There was no need for Seras to comprehend what was actually happening – not yet.

 

Ignoring the iron bolt in his arm, and the stinging sensation creeping through his veins, Alucard aimed now for Mina’s shoulder and fired before ducking to avoid any retaliation on her part.

 

Mina cried out as the silver bit into her flesh in a spray of blood, knocking her to the ground. Alucard yanked out the bolt from his arm and went over to her in long strides.

 

By the time he reached her, only a matter of seconds, Mina was beginning to turn to mist at the edges; her fingertips were completely gone already.

 

Alucard stood on Mina’s wrist, and exerted his own power; forcing her to remain corporeal – at least for the time being. He saw that the bullet had done as intended; scraped past her shoulder, that was enough to bring her down, he did not really care where it had gone after that. Deaf as much as he could be to her gasps of pain, he twisted his boot to force her to release the crossbow. When it was free of her fingers, Alucard kicked it clattering away.

 

“ _You_ got in my _way!_ ” She shrieked, long white fangs exposed. With her free hand, Mina slid out a silver stiletto knife from her belt and stabbed it as far up Alucard’s leg as she could reach.

 

He yelled and blindly reached for her wrist as she dragged the blade down, tearing through muscle and sinew until she left it sticking out of his ankle. Mina was then able to push him off her wrist and scramble away.

 

No sooner had she sat up than a heavy-calibre bullet raced past her ear, releasing a wispy lock of chestnut hair from her bun. Mina whipped her head around to see Seras lining up another shot – not to kill, she wouldn’t disobey her sire like that, but to keep Mina from killing Alucard.

 

“I take it you mean those humans?” Alucard made a step towards her. He was still uncertain of the situation; this was Mina and yet it wasn’t. The Mina Harker he knew would never act as she now was. “Sorry to say that you can’t just go around attacking humans whenever you please.”

 

Mina quickly realised she did not have time to retrieve her crossbow, so pulled her second dagger out and lunged for Alucard. The point of the knife just made contact with his skin before Alucard was able to grab both of Mina’s wrists, keeping the blade away from his body.

 

“It is not _my_ will, but _his_ ,” she hissed cryptically.

 

The next moment Alucard was holding nothing but thin air. Mina had successfully turned her body to mist; flesh dissipating into the darkness and obfuscating everything.

 

Her echoing laugh once more surrounded Alucard in the dark, the mist clouding out the rest of the world. The vampire could have been anywhere and it would make no difference. The only thing he could see was that the crossbow was no longer discarded on the floor.

 

Amongst the murkiness that Mina created, Alucard could see red eyes and sharp teeth spinning around him in rapidly-moving circles. He recognised the distraction technique Mina was using; it was his own.

 

“Good to know you’re making use of my blood,” he muttered with his usual dark amusement.

 

Bending down to reach his ankle, Alucard finally pulled out the stiletto with a grunt and threw it away. Straightening, the vampire held out both his guns; aiming into the mist, prepared for when Mina would reveal herself. Alucard was in no rush. So long as Mina was trying to kill him, he would not have to chase her.

 

Alucard heard the click of the crossbow trigger behind him and shot at the sound before Mina had a chance to move. A spray of bullets flew through the night – followed by the shattering of car windows and the smashing of stone. He even thought he heard Seras cry out in irritation once or twice. The whistling of crossbow bolts was lost amongst the noise.

 

A sudden yelp confirmed that Mina was hit. The mist shuddered for a moment then thickened. Moving through it, Alucard found a puddle of blood on the floor.

 

Then she strayed too close – close enough for Alucard to know exactly where she was.

 

With a grin, he dropped both his guns and reached into the mist, his fingers closed around Mina’s arm. She cried out in annoyance as her opponent pulled her around and pushed her down to the ground. In one great gust, the mist dissipated and the two vampires were once again surrounded by Canterbury and the devastated market square.

 

This close together, now, the sweet smell of Mina’s blood mingled with the tang of Alucard’s own in the icy air. No matter how he stared into the woman’s eyes – eyes that had once been green – he could not find a shred of recognition there. Not even a shadow. Not even a ghost.

 

There was something desperately wrong with her, that much was obvious.

_Why doesn’t she know me?_

 

The thought pinged around Alucard’s head like a bullet in a steel drum. He couldn’t shake it. Even if she had thought him dead – ostensibly killed by Van Helsing – surely that wouldn’t make her blind to the obvious? It hadn’t done for him, after all, he had recognised her. No, it was something else.

 

Right now, however, were more pressing matters than their less-than-friendly reunion.

 

Alucard could see the two wounds he had dealt her – the second was a scrape on her hip. Neither of them would kill her, or even slow her down that much, and Alucard would have to act fast to restrain her. Knowing that Mina would soon find some way to get free, he quickly pushed both her hands above her head.

 

Once there, Alucard worked to have her two hands restrained by one of his. A task that would have been much easier had Mina not been struggling so much. When he had his left hand free, the vampire pressed the pad of his thumb firmly against Mina’s forehead. He pushed thoughts of sleep and calmness into her mind – a task much more easily accomplished in a human. Vampires had an inherent mental power that tended to repel mind-control of any kind. After a brief struggle, however, her movements stopped and she lay limply on the ground.

 

Alucard hesitated there a moment, staring down at a woman he had once taken for dead. Well, she was dead – but not in the way he had imagined for over a century.

 

As Mina lay there, Alucard was reminded of the last time he saw her living. The last time anyone had seen her truly living. She was cradled nearly unconscious in his arms, her hapless fiancé fainted on the floor. It was one of the occasions he genuinely believed he had won the fight; would get to conquer the world unimpeded. He should never have underestimated Mina’s determination in that regard.

 

A shuffling footstep nearby made him look up, leaving Mina – and his memories – lying on the damp ground.

 

“Why wouldn’t you kill her?” Seras stood with one hand on her hip and the other loosely holding her rocket-blaster, a dark glare creasing her pretty features. Even Alucard had to admit she looked passingly threatening.

 

“Does it really matter to you?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“It’s a long story.” He took one look at his protégé’s lingering frown and rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell you on the drive back.”

 

Seras let the hand on her hip drop to her side. The compromise apparently sating her. For the time being, at least.

 

“I suppose you still want me to call clean-up?” Seras drew her lips thin – a habit that she had apparently picked up from Integra while Alucard was away.

 

Alucard threw a careless glance around at the destruction he had left. A windowless parked van riddled with bullet holes sat beneath broken streetlamps showering errant sparks over the world below; the contentedly burning bakery was the worst of it. Mustering a half-hearted chuckle, he looked back to the blonde girl before him.

 

“I suppose so.” He retrieved Jackal and Casull from where he had thrown them, holstering each at his sides. Then, returning to where Mina lay, hooked his finger through the trigger of the crossbow and held it swinging in front of Seras’ face. “Here.”

 

The younger vampire moved her head from side to side in time with the weapon before she gingerly took it from Alucard.

 

Once Seras had the crossbow, Alucard bent down to Mina; sliding one hand behind her shoulders, the other beneath her knees. She was as light as he remembered, at least. Seras was oblivious to his actions – far more interested in the weapon held in her hands.

 

“Iron bolts…” Alucard assumed the girl was talking more to herself than to him at this point. “This mechanism is strange – it doesn’t load like a normal cross… what are you doing!?”

 

Seras almost dropped the crossbow as she scampered to catch up with the older vampire, who she had only just noticed was leaving. Having lifted Mina off the floor, Alucard was now carrying her away from the cathedral gate. He did not turn at Seras’ sudden outburst, but only continued toward the car.

 

“Open the back door,” he ordered.

 

“We’re taking her back, Master?” It made no sense to Seras – they were sent to kill vampires, not save them – certainly not to bring them back. Habit kicked in, however, and she opened the door for him anyway.

 

“Absolutely,” Alucard confirmed as he slid into the back seat; gently pulling Mina after him. He rested her head against his shoulder. “And all will become clear as I explain… while _you_ drive.”

 

He waited until Seras was in the driver’s seat with the engine running before muttering.

 

“Then you can help me work out how to convince Integra.”

 


	2. Disobedience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all of my chapters will end up being as quickly updated as this but at the minute I'm basically tweaking things I already had written so enjoy it while it lasts!

[Hellsing HQ]

 

“Absolutely _not!_ ” Integra slammed her fist down loudly. The sound reinforced her last word with the accompanying chime of whisky glasses as the resonance reached their side of the desk – and successfully hid the slight gasp coming from the door.

 

She slowly unclenched her fist before sinking down into the comfortable chair behind the desk. The worn leather groaned softly, and a slight scent of smoke escaped, as its occupant leaned back.

 

Alucard didn’t move from where he stood; on the other side of Integra’s desk, leaning as far forward as he dared. His gloved fingertips pressed down into the desktop to bear his weight. Integra eyed him warningly with her single, blue eye.

 

It was only master and vampire in the expansive office. Emptiness cloaked the cavernous, half-lit room; echoing off the silent bookshelves. All other staff – including Seras – had been ordered away so that this conversation could be had with some degree of privacy. The volume at which they, Integra primarily, were conversing essentially negated any effect the closed door might have had.

 

“You were told to kill the vampire in Canterbury, not bring her back _here!_ ” Her hand jutted out sword-like through the air, all fingers accusatorily aimed at Alucard. She had been reiterating her disapproval ever since he had walked in carrying Mina. Alucard hadn’t been surprised in the least.

 

“This is a particular case – you _must_ see that.” Alucard grit his teeth, eyes flashing in the dimly-lit room. “Mina is-”

 

“I do not believe the vampire you have there is the real Mina Harker! How _can_ she be?” Integra scoffed with a shrug of her shoulders.

 

Alucard had to admit, he could understand why his master thought it was a bit of a stretch; Mina Harker died over a century ago. Killed by Count Dracula. Buried next to her childhood friend Lucy Westenra. That is what it said in the file on her in the basement.

 

The last anyone had heard of the poor woman her bones were being used to create an army of Nazi-vampires.

 

That she could return from all of that – _any_ of that – was incredulous at best. Utterly inconceivable, but Alucard had underestimated the woman before and he wasn’t going to do it a second time. If anyone could cling to life – even a half-life like this one – it was Mina bloody Harker.

 

“I am not lying about this, Sir, she _is_ Mina.”

 

“You are mistaken.” Integra began tapping the pad of her pointer finger against the desk impatiently.

 

“Don’t you trust my judgement? Trust me?”

 

Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, Alucard could tell he had said the wrong thing.

 

Both master and servant stiffened, time carried on without them. A tense silence swept into the office; carried on the cool early-morning breeze as it danced in through the one cracked-open window. Ordinarily, Alucard would have enjoyed the freshness of it, savoured every scent carried in on its wisps. Now, however, his sole focus was his master.

 

The glare Integra levelled at him was sensational. Pure anger the likes of which she usually reserved for members of the Convention of Twelve when they were behaving particularly childishly. Alucard would be lying if he said it wasn’t one of the most attractive expressions he had ever seen.

 

That being said, he was still determined in his resolution; Mina _had_ to be given a chance. He owed her that much.

 

“I cannot allow her to stay – you have to finish this.” Integra kept her voice even, quiet; reasonable. She leant forward in her chair to lean her elbows on the desk, steepling her fingers under her chin. She was pushing herself into Alucard’s personal space to make her point. “Do it by choice or I will order you to do it.”

 

Alucard strategically chose not to point out that that was hardly giving him a choice.

 

“Give me time. If she is not Mina then, of course, I will kill her at once.” There wasn’t a part of him that believed for even a moment that was a possibility. He knew he had to offer a bargain, though, and admit that he might be wrong. Outright defiance was never a good idea against Integra Hellsing – not even for roguishly charming, bloodthirsty vampires.

 

A brisk knock on the door interrupted them.

 

“Enter,” Integra barked, settling back into the chair once again.

 

Alucard stood up and moved away from the desk; mind running a mile a millisecond trying to think up a way to convince his master. His hands clenched and unclenched against the material of his gloves and he knew his eyes were staring at everything and nothing.

 

The door swung open and Integra’s newest butler, wearing an old suit, took a languid step inside. A shadow in the doorframe shifted behind him as the door fell nearly-closed again.

 

She had been going through them at a rate of almost one a month in the first few years after Walter. In fact, the first year itself, Integra had refused to get anyone at all – saying that no one could replace Walter. Sir Hellsing would run the house herself.

 

Not long after that, she had decided that she needed to delegate the some of the work in order to continue running Hellsing efficiently.

 

Seras had the job for all of a week before Integra hired a trained butler.

 

As Integra had gotten steadily more and more used to having someone walking in the spaces once occupied by Walter’s ghost, she had allowed them to stay for longer and longer. Two months, at least.

 

Within twenty years they had gone through the majority of household service agencies in Greater London. Some even refused outright to deal with anyone associated with Hellsing; something about disturbing requests and threats with swords. Integra truly was thankful for the records rooms stuffed with confidentiality agreements. 

 

This chain of events resulted in the current butler, one Lucas Reeve; an ex-psychologist with an interest in the properties and uses of hypnotism. Integra had met him by accident in Covent Garden.

 

Neither Alucard or Seras had understood why their master had wanted to have a psychologist for a butler but they hadn’t complained; Lucas was easy enough to like.

 

That and he made an excellent pot of Darjeeling.

 

“Sir Hellsing.”

 

“Reeve, what is it?” Integra rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger – half pushing the black material of her eyepatch into the socket of the missing one in place of rubbing an actual eye.

 

“I have restrained the vampire Alucard brought back, as ordered, Sir. She is in one of the underground cells. You asked me to tell you when it was completed.”

 

“Thank you, Reeve.” She sounded relieved that something had gone according to orders. “Would you please bring me my morning tea?”

 

“Of course, Sir.” He bowed low, soft black curls falling over his honey-coloured eyes, and left the room.

 

“Seras.” It was barely even a call. Integra knew the girl had been lingering outside the door the whole time and had had enough of feigning ignorance. “Get in here, please.”

 

Seras stepped tentatively into Integra’s office, pushing the door shut behind her. Alucard saw her glance his way as she passed him. He was, however, fixedly staring at Integra.

 

“What is your report on the crossbow?” Integra’s tone brooked no excuse.

 

“Um… well, it’s automatic. Reloads from the canister after every shot. By cutting out the manual reloading process, it makes it a more effective battle-weapon, but it is still unwieldy.” Seras shifted on the toes of her feet.

 

“Says the vampire with her own rocket-launcher,” Alucard muttered from behind her. Integra gave him a sharp look over the rim of her glasses – he was instantly silent. Even with only one eye, she still had that power.

 

“Are there any indications as to who would have something like this?” She flicked her gaze back Seras, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

 

“The vampire we found was the only one using it.” Seras winced a little when Integra sighed in response; clearly she had said the wrong thing.

 

“ _Obviously_ , but _someone_ must have given it to her.” The woman rose from her chair and walked around the desk to stand between her two vampires. “That crossbow is _not_ the sort of thing you can pick up from just anywhere – it was custom-made.”

 

“ _She_ could have made it.” Seras interjected hopefully.

 

“In theory, yes, but where did she get the equipment to make such a thing, hmm?” She looked pointedly at Seras. “I saw it when you brought it in; it was made properly, by skilled hands. You cannot make a crossbow using the same equipment you do to make a gun.”

 

Integra crossed her arms and sighed again, eyes lingering on her office door. Her teeth gnawed pensively on her lower lip for a moment until she turned back to Seras.

 

“Get some rest now, you’ve been out of your coffin too long, but I want this to be your priority when you wake up. Look for markings you may have missed, materials used, style of mechanism, _anything_. I need to know this crossbow’s provenance – clear?”

 

“Yes, Sir.” Seras bobbed her head and silently left the room. Alucard heard her diminishing footsteps recede down the hallway. Evidently eavesdropping had lost its appeal.

 

Alucard did not move. Leaning against a bookcase, arms folded and the broad brim of his hat pulled down, he watched Integra move back to her chair and almost reach for her whisky glass. The vampire smirked.

 

“Bit early for that, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Did I _ask_ for your opinion?” All the same, she did not pour herself a glass, reaching instead for one of the various forms that seemed to have taken up residence on her desk. “Why are you still here?”

 

“Because-”

 

He stopped talking as the door opened once more for Lucas. The butler came in and set down the tea without a word. He was good at knowing when not to speak – much better at it than Alucard, certainly. No sooner was the tea in front of her than Integra calmly poured herself a cup.

 

As he left, the butler shot Alucard a wink. The vampire quickly rolled his eyes and shut the door again once he and Integra were alone.

 

“Because you still have not made your final decision about Mina.”

 

“Really? I thought I was perfectly clear.” Integra held the steaming cup of tea at an appropriate distance from her face so as not to fog up what vision she had left.

 

“She is no different from Seras… what is it?” His master was shaking her head and laughing at him.

 

“‘No different from Seras’? You _must_ be joking. Seras had never hurt anyone when you brought her back, not significantly. Mina – or whoever it is – _has_. She has acted like every other selfish, arrogant freak I send you after.”

 

“Fine then.” There was a note of exasperation in his voice – Integra was wary to note that. Master she may be, but the vampire was far stronger than her in many ways. A proper fight between them was in no one’s best interest. “She is just like _me_.”

 

Alucard looked directly at Integra then, and the woman could have sworn she saw something almost human in his monster eyes.

 

It was a good argument – one Integra could not dispute as easily as the others. Alucard could see the cogs of her mind working through every possible angle and consequence. Her eye narrowed.

 

“Why do you want her that badly?”

 

“It’s not to possess her, if that’s what you’re thinking. I gave up that a long time ago. I-” Alucard chuckled, reaching up a hand to rub the back of his neck. The vampire cleared his throat. “There are some things I need to say to her.”

 

“I don’t think ‘sorry’ would quite cut it.”

 

“No, it’s more complicated than that,” he admitted, dropping both hands to his sides. Alucard hoped that Integra would need no more detail than that.

 

“Very well, you can keep her – for now.” Integra took a calm sip of the scalding tea. As expected, the moment she raised the hot drink to her lips, Integra’s glasses steamed up and she could not see a thing. “But I want to talk to her before you do – ask her some questions.”

 

It would only be when her glasses cleared that she would see Alucard had already gone.

 

He sped down the corridors; turning lefts and rights on his way down from Integra’s office to the armoury. He would need rest sometime soon, yes, but he wanted time to look at that crossbow properly. Seras might know how the thing worked, but he had more experience identifying craftsmen by their work.

 

There was no one around the lower levels at this time in the morning. All the code-crunchers were spread across ground floor of the East Wing, research took the rest, and most other departments of Hellsing were housed solely in the West Wing. Leaving the top floor of the mansion for Integra and her personal staff. The only Hellsing agents who ventured down this far were the security guards, and they wouldn’t start doing their full sweeps of the basement for another couple of hours – a definite blessing as far as Alucard was concerned.

 

The vampire strode down the concrete tunnel, past the flickering sodium lights, and down to the door labelled ‘ARMOURY: AUTHORISED PERSONS ONLY.’ Alucard slammed open the heavy metal door without a second thought.

 

“Rough night?” Alucard sighed – three-parts irritation, six-parts amusement – at Lucas’ teasing, silky voice coming at him from the left.

 

The vampire turned to see the man leaning against table, lean arms folded in front of his chest. His usual charming smirk curled across his lips.

 

“I’ve had better than this, certainly, more… satisfying.” Alucard threw Lucas a grin of his own before making his way over to the stand in which Seras had propped Mina’s weapon.

 

The crossbow seemed a lot duller down here, out of the moonlight, the white paint looking grey instead. It was just as sleek as he remembered though. The reloading mechanism was what made it truly cumbersome, of course; a chunky bit of metal forming a kind of barrel sitting between the trigger and the groove. As far as Alucard could see from his quick investigation of the device, cartridges of bolts were loaded through the back of the stock. He wouldn’t want to guess how many the thing could hold at once.

 

Tilting the crossbow on its side, Alucard could see a cross picked out in silver along its length.

 

“There’s one on the other side too,” Lucas said, meandering over to stand at Alucard’s left elbow.

 

The vampire grunted in response as he moved the weapon about between his hands to test the weight. There was no way a human would be comfortable using it – even a vampire would have had to get used to it over time.

 

“Whoever made it knew what they were doing – that thing’s study as a rock.” The butler clicked his tongue.

 

“You have any theories?” Alucard didn’t turn to look at him. He was busy studying the underside of the curious weapon now; nimble fingers gliding over every bump and grove in the smooth wood.

 

“None. Theories are a bit above my pay-grade.”

 

Alucard cast a wry glance over his shoulder. “Should I tell Integra you want a raise, or would you like the honour yourself?”

 

“Not at all,” Lucas raised his hands amiably, “just pointing out that I wouldn’t want to give an opinion when I am clearly _not_ the professional here.”

 

Alucard replied with a soft “hmm” as he set the crossbow down gently, fingers lingering on it a fraction of a second longer than necessary. He took a single step back and crossed his arms, gaze not moving from the weapon.

 

“There is one thing, though…” _Oh, here we go_ , thought Alucard, irritation nagging his mind. Lucas had a nasty habit of prying into things. “Why _did_ you save her?”

 

Now was no different, apparently.

 

“I have _just had_ this exact conversation with Integra,” annoyance was quickly boiling dangerously close to anger. His master questioning his actions was one thing, but Lucas was entirely different.

 

“Do you love her?”

 

The question cut through the rest of Alucard’s speech like sunlight through shadow.

 

“Of course not.” The vampire’s reply was snappish; instant. “Love is for humans. Vampires do not require such emotion.”

 

He had once desired Mina, that was undeniable, but love was never the question. There was no reason it needed to be now.

 

“I wasn’t talking about requirement, Alucard, I was asking about what you feel.” The young man’s earnest expression almost made Alucard feel pity for him. Lucas liked artistic ideals and answers – he would have been better suited to the eighteenth century rather than the twenty-first.

 

“Is this as a friend, Integra’s butler, or the company shrink?” A sardonic humour took over Alucard’s mood.

 

“I’m not a therapist anymore, Alucard.” Lucas smiled softly, almost sadly.

 

“Perhaps – but no one knows better than me how old habits die hard.”

 

“Old habits like Mina Harker?”

 

The man was sharp, Alucard would grudgingly give him that.

 

“Yes, I suppose you could call her that.”

 

Was it habit that drew him to her? Habit that nudged the aim of his hands away from the kill-shot? Habit that had him arguing with his master and confusing everyone around him for someone he hadn’t seen in over a century?

 

Whatever it was, it was bloody annoying. Alucard would be lying if he said he wanted it gone completely, though; if he said he wanted _her_ – Mina – gone completely.

 

“What I’d… like to know is; how did she… become a vampire?” Lucas fidgeted uncertainly from one foot to the other.

 

“Do you want the basic explanation, or the scientific?” Alucard scoffed, an eyebrow raised in question.

 

“I know the ritual.” Now it was Lucas who snapped. Alucard smiled a bit at that and bit back a jibe at the other man referring to the change as a ‘ritual.’ “What I mean is; didn’t she _marry_ Jonathan?”

 

It was an odd question, Alucard couldn’t see the relevance at first. Then it clicked. He kept his tone light, innocent, in his reply.

 

“Yes.”

 

Alucard nearly burst out laughing when he saw Lucas’ expression of discomfort. He may have been a counsellor once-upon-a-time but the man was certainly a nervous wreck when it came to navigating subtlety with a vampire.

 

“Well… didn’t they…?” The pinkish shadow of a blush hovered over his freckled cheeks.

 

Alucard couldn’t resist winding the young butler up a little more. “That man never loved her the way she deserved.”

 

“Again not what I asked.” The rosy stain on his face was quickly dying and he was starting to tap his foot. Alucard rolled his eyes. “Did they… _consumma-_ ”

 

“No, they didn’t.” Again, his response was sharper than need be. “He ignored her, to put it plainly – more interested in his career. She was a show-wife, if you like. I’m sure they would have had children eventually but that marriage would have wasted her. Wasted her potential.”

 

“You think you saved her from that?”

 

Alucard hadn’t liked Mr Harker much when they had met, and even less when he realised the calibre of woman the man was marrying. Inquisitive, intelligent, caring without being sentimental, and beautiful. At the time, Alucard had believed Harker was unworthy of Mina – that all of humanity was. She would reach her full potential as a vampire and they would rule the world, together. That had been his plan. _That turned out phenomenally well for you, didn’t it?_

_You think you saved her from that?_

 

“At the time, maybe,” he shrugged, “in some warped way, but now? I think it would have been better to kill Harker when I had the chance.” Even Alucard couldn’t help the way his voice took on a dark edge when he spoke of killing Jonathan Harker.

 

Credit to Lucas, the man budged not an inch; no facial expression betrayed if he was unsettled by the way Alucard now talked. Then again, he wouldn’t have lasted so long in this job if he did baulk at murderous desires and words – or, at least, if he showed it.

 

It wasn’t much longer, however, before the skinny butler was bidding Alucard good-day and making a polite exit. Alucard allowed himself a wicked grin at that.

 

* * *

 

[The Vatican: Section XIII]

 

A heavy and unavoidable heat swamped the Cardinal’s chambers. Makube could feel the tepid sweat running down between his shoulder blades. _Disgusting_. While most of Rome was enjoying the cooler weather of winter, Iscariot’s underground bunker was a perpetual boiler. Pipes and electrical systems riddled the multi-layered tunnels like the elaborate guts of some great creature. There was once a joke going around that Section XIII had one foot in hell. Those jokes were soon stopped by a few trips to the cells.

 

The jests didn’t seem quite so heretical, or hyperbolic, after spending a whole summer down in Iscariot’s warrens – and Makube had been here for years.

 

The Cardinal’s predilection for filling his rooms with a cloud of incense smoke did nothing to aid the stifling effect either.

 

Makube stood in the doorway to the Cardinal’s chambers, glaring the man down where he sat behind his creaking desk and a mountain of papers. His trademark smoke curling up from the ostentatious shrine to the Blessed Virgin he’d had set into the wall to the immediate left of the desk. Just within reach of his right hand.

 

The Archbishop’s fist clenched around the warm metal doorknob as he considered his first words – disbelief had a tendency to render him dumb. No matter how much he went over it in the fevered march from the cells to the upper levels, Makube couldn’t begin his angry tirade now that he was staring down the object of his ire. The Cardinal beat him to it.

 

“It is customary to knock _before_ entering, Archbishop,” the older man said calmly, glancing up from his papers. His obnoxiously unperturbed reaction was enough to boil words out of Makube.

 

“It is _customary_ for you at least to _pretend_ that you respect my authority over Iscariot.” Contradictory to his low, level tone, Makube slammed the door shut behind him. His eyes watered from the effort of not choking on the smoke that was disturbed by his action. Somehow he managed to continue. “Unless you propose to play the fool and tell me you didn’t know your little _pet_ is no longer in her holding cell?”

 

By that, the Archbishop meant Lilith; a vampire the Cardinal had seized from the ruins of Millennium and “trained” to be a weapon for Iscariot. Makube had only found out about her existence a little over a year ago. He hadn’t taken it well. She had only been allowed to remain because Makube had consented to see if they could use Hellsing’s logic of ‘it takes a vampire to kill a vampire’ to their own ends.

 

The Cardinal tutted in response. The sound galled Makube, always had done. It made him feel like he was being scalded, which was preposterous as it was he who was the Director of Iscariot _not_ the aging cardinal. Nonetheless, Makube stopped his encroach towards the other man’s weathered desk and stood seemingly bolted to the floor where he was.

 

“You have been snooping around my things, Archbishop?” The Cardinal asked ponderously with a threateningly innocent-looking smile.

 

A dull ache, growing sharper by the second, started to crawl up Makube’s cheek as he ground his teeth together.

 

Ever since Maxwell and his _incident_ , it had been decided among those who knew about Iscariot that Section XIII should not be led by simply one man. Of course, it was beneficial for the ensured cooperation of all parties involved if that was how it appeared, regardless of actuality.

 

In truth the Director of Section XIII, for the time being that meant Makube, could not give an order without the appointed cardinal’s approval. The particular cardinal to whom Makube had been yoked was an arrogant enigma – even refusing to let anyone call him by name. Hardly inspired trust. All decisions pertaining to the secret organisation, however, had to be cleared by both men. It was a kind of partnership.

 

A partnership that both men were known to disregard from time-to-time. Such as keeping a vampire in the lower cells – what might be generously referred to as a dungeon – for over thirty years.

 

“Where. Is. She?” Bottled fury radiated from the Archbishop. He almost shook.

 

Makube watched as the Cardinal unhurriedly rose to his feet and came around the desk, setting down the paper he was holding. The incense made his features appear to shift and change as the portly man waded his way through it.

 

The chamber wasn’t overly-large. In fact, it was probably less than ten feet in length – the width was harder to guess, what with the locked metal cabinets lining each wall. Either way, the speed the Cardinal was going, it might as well have been a mile between the far side and where Makube stood.

 

Within seconds of the Cardinal arriving to stand before Makube a weighty hand went to each of the Archbishop’s shoulders, holding him there – much to the younger man’s chagrin. All he could do in retaliation was stare down his nose at the grey-haired cardinal and privately thank God for making him the taller of the two.

 

“My son.” Makube shifted irritably under the Cardinal’s hands at the ecclesiastical term of endearment. The fingers gripped a little tighter into Makube’s shoulders. “She is in the service of God.”

 

“That is not an answer.”

 

“It should be enough.” The Cardinal waited a breath before shrugging genially. “I sent her after those heretics who freed Wolfe’s prisoners; witches, weren’t they? The ones to be executed, you remem-”

 

“Of course I _remember!_ ” Makube snapped petulantly, shaking the Cardinal’s hands off his shoulders as he did.

 

He quickly came to regret the quick breath he took in order to make that remark.

 

The Archbishop’s lungs were filled with the sweet, woody-scented incense and within moments he couldn’t breathe for coughing. Water streamed down from his eyes, his throat and chest _hurt_ and he could feel his face turning the colour of the Cardinal’s sash. A couple of sound whacks on the back from the man he despised and Makube was once again able to take a few shuddering, raspy breaths in the smog.

 

One look at the older man’s face and the Archbishop drew his lips thin. He was allowing his anger to take over and push him into the position of the fool – worse, the Cardinal knew it. The self-indulgent smirk tweaking his puffy lips made that much plain. In their little ongoing game of false respect and real deception, the Archbishop had just made a wrong move. If Makube was a man frequently given to curse, now might have been the time.

 

The Cardinal, it seemed, gladly took it as an opportunity to speak.

 

“You wanted these… _freedom fighters_ captured and executed, did you not?” The way the Cardinal said it, they might have been talking about ice-cream flavour preference.

 

After a long moment of staring at Makube with a childlike curiosity, the older man sauntered back to retrieve the paper he had previously abandoned. Evidently certain Makube could breathe on his own, or not caring. He looked over it studiously, just to give the appearance of ignoring the other man – the Archbishop was sure of it.

 

The Cardinal took a couple of calculated steps back towards Makube. The paper he had collected was an excommunication to recommend to His Holiness, carefully carelessly tipped so that it could be seen easily. Makube would give the man no points for subtlety – even a ghoul would have understood that threat.

 

“That is Iscariot business,” Makube growled, whether in irritation or from the coughing fit he didn’t truly know. He preferred to believe the former. The sweat crawled further down his back. “The caveat of a Cardinal being appointed to oversee Section XIII was that the Bureau Director would retain control-”

 

“That all action would have to be signed-off by _both_ the Director _and_ the Cardinal in question,” the Cardinal pedantically corrected. Makube barely reigned-in his disgusted sneer. “But _that_ is in reference to strictly _Iscariot_ business, I sent Lilith as a free agent.”

 

Though the heat sitting sluggishly on the room did not increase, Makube was certain the stifling sensation was getting worse. Anger bubbled under his skin. He could feel his involuntary lip-twitch tugging the corner of his scar the more enraged he got with the nerve of this man’s bureaucracy.

 

The Cardinal pulled casually at his collar, making sure it was straight before leaning suavely back on the edge of his desk.

 

“And before you say again that this _is_ Iscariot business, allow me to explain.” He paused. Makube made no move to interrupt him or even walk away and ignore him; rage had him rooted to the spot like a statue with moving eyes. Dust motes whirled more in their lazy circles than he so much as moved a finger.

 

“Simply put: Lilith is _plausible deniability_.” Makube could not believe what he was hearing – though still he did not move. “If anything _does_ go wrong and she is _caught_ , no one will know that she had anything to do with Iscariot – or Mother Church, while we are on the subject. She does not know where she has been for the past thirty-one years any more than _they_ do… _Alternatively_ , she actually finds the heretics and comes back to us a success; we will have the perfect weapon. Tried and tested.”

 

Makube silently shook his head. The Cardinal tutted again.

 

“I trained her for _exactly_ this.” He sounded far more reasonable than he should have done. Makube could loath him for that alone.

 

“Forgive me, _Eminence_ -”

 

“Granted.”

 

Makube cleared his throat testily. “-but why would Iscariot _want_ to deny involvement? Why would she get caught? Who would be catching her? They’re just heretics.”

 

Whenever Makube imagined the ragtag groups who tried to stop or attack Iscariot’s operations every few years they were caricatures; comedic, laughable. Perhaps even pitiable. He never considered them a real threat and was never much bothered by them rearing their heads yet again. Heinkel always captured them eventually – they made stupid mistakes, always.

 

“Archbishop, where do you think the heretics went, exactly?” His voice was smooth as hot chocolate. Makube could sense a trap.

 

“To a country whose prominent religion is not Catholicism,” he answered drily.

 

“Quite.” The Cardinal’s reply was clipped. “I presume, then, that you do not know?”

 

The Archbishop narrowed his eyes. Sometimes their game really got on his nerves.

 

“They went to England.”

 

“ _Hellsing?_ ” Makube hissed instantly, not thinking that holding his tongue might have been the sager path. He barely even stopped to consider the fact that the Cardinal possessed this vital information first – or that he didn’t immediately share it. At last, Makube was starting to move more like a human than a Michelangelo; snapping his head up to look incredulously at the other man. “ _They_ are responsible for this?”

 

“I honestly do not know.” The Cardinal shrugged. “But there is a chance that they are. Either way, we could not have risked sending anyone else in case Hellsing took it as an action of war – sadly we are not yet ready for the repercussions of that.”

 

Makube nodded once with a soft “hmm.” He couldn’t deny that, no matter how much agreeing with the Cardinal made him want to choke. More than the incense already did, anyway.

 

“Heinkel won’t be happy… that someone else was sent into Hellsing territory,” the Archbishop mused calmly, crossing his arms.

 

“I was not aware _Ms Wolfe’s_ opinion carried such weight here.” The Cardinal began moving back around to the other side of his desk, smoke parting before him like the great musty sea.

 

“Heinkel has fought them before and holds a grudge for what happened.” The Archbishop shrugged; he hoped it was casual enough not to warrant raising suspicion.

 

The Cardinal seemed to pay it no mind as he lowered himself down into his chair – both desk and seat protesting at being used as support for such a heavy man. He went back to sifting through the spread before him while talking to Makube.

 

“I am well aware of Heinkel’s _obsession_ with the female vampire, Archbishop, make no mistake.”

 

Everyone knew about it.

 

Heinkel would gladly move heaven and earth just to get her hands on Seras Victoria. Makube was fairly certain that Heinkel was _this close_ to drawing pictures of the vampire over the head of all her target silhouettes. He was, however, under no obligation to let the Cardinal know that.

 

“It isn’t an obsession,” Makube scoffed. “She wants to see Hellsing destroyed – as do we all. Any feelings she may harbour toward that freak are those of simple rivalry, nothing more.”

 

The Cardinal looked amusedly over his papers at the other man.

 

“Once it the individual feels that the kill is theirs by _right_ then it is more than simple rivalry, Archbishop,” he countered patronisingly. “Now, will that be all? I am a very busy man, if you would excuse me.”

 

The Cardinal was more than pleased to see the back of the Archbishop. Even if pushing him to the point of spitting feathers was an excellent diversion from his clerical duties. Somehow, the seemingly gentle smile with which he graced Makube managed to communicate all of this to the testy Archbishop.

 

“Of course, your Eminence,” Makube snarled, offering a terse smile of his own. Slamming the door behind him in a whirl of smoke as he left.


	3. Orders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is being split by POV rather than by location. Sorrynotsorry if you find that a bit amatuer but guess what; I am, in fact, an amatuer - ta da! That and it was the most effectiver way to do what I wanted with this chapter so... yeah. Anyway, there is some more description of wounds and decay here - enjoy!

[Hellsing HQ]

 

This was nothing new. This cell was familiar.

 

_This is nothing new. This cell is familiar._

 

The repeated mantra chanted over and over in Lilith’s mind. She kept her eyes closed and her body relaxed; if torture was coming for her then she could handle it. She could take whatever they would throw at her. _This is nothing new_.

 

Lilith had been in a prison like this one for years. Training, existing, serving. In fact, this one was nicer; no water drip, drip, dripping down the walls, no crosses or rosaries hanging over her head, no hands pushing her _into_ _the burning…_

_No!_

 

She took a steadying breath; slow and a little shaky. Her chest trembled as she breathed in, out. Lilith had to make a conscious effort to release her fingers from their death-grip on the arms of the chair in which she now sat. She could feel the puncture-marks under the pads of her fingers as she withdrew her claws and relaxed; flexing her fingers once, twice.

 

No, this was not like the other place. Her torture cell – her training chamber. The worst thing about this prison were the silver-coated binds used to hold her in the chair. They were like a blinding light in her head, she could hardly think – hardly move. Pain radiated up Lilith’s arms with every pulse from her slow-beating, undead heart. She could cope with that.

 

It only hurt; and what was pain, really? All in the mind. Lilith knew that – she had been told. So long as she kept her eyes closed. If Lilith opened her eyes, she would see her skin greying, peeling, and decaying under the weight of the blessed silver – then re-growing and rotting anew. That would make it much more difficult to ignore.

 

All she had to do was keep breathing, keep relaxed. _This cell is familiar_.

 

The status quo of her mind and situation was abruptly disturbed by the whining shriek of the door opening. Lilith kept her eyes closed, breath steady. A day must have passed; they were returning. Her fingers tensed slightly.

 

“Eugh! What _is_ that smell?” The voice was a woman’s – not young, but not quite past her prime. Anything else Lilith was unable to tell.

 

“ _I’ve_ been smelling it all evening.”

 

Lilith could not stop her eyes flying open at the sound of the voice she recognised, though she inwardly cursed her own weakness.

 

He stood in the doorway to her cell next to the woman – who had a handkerchief pressed over her nose and mouth. He had on the same voluminous red coat she had seen him in before, the same matching wide-brimmed red hat pulled over the black hair that tickled his neck. Everything about him was as she remembered from their last meeting – right down to the pistols strapped to his hips.

 

There was something else, however – not simply that they were of a kind, both monsters. Vampires. It was something beyond recognition. Something stronger. A kind of familiarity she did not know. Lilith could not place it and that unsettled her.

 

“It’s her skin.” Another man’s voice came from around the corner. Lilith saw the grey-blonde woman turn to her right. “The silver, it’s putrefying her skin which, of course, grows back only to be melted off again.”

 

_It is not melting, there is no heat._

 

Lilith frowned, blinking, uncertain from where in her mind that empirical thought came. The voice in her head that said it sounded like hers, but she could not recall having need of such knowledge. All Lilith needed to know was how to kill the unkillable, and how to serve her master.

 

She turned her gaze back to the people at the door to find the dark haired man in the red coat staring straight at her.

 

The look startled her somewhat. Lilith was used to being looked at either in anticipation or revulsion, not this, not… confusion. Neither one looked away from the other; crimson eyes locked across the cell.

 

“Have you finished the seal on the door yet?” The woman sounded impatient.

 

“Al…most… _there!_ Done it.”

 

“Release her.”

 

There was a beat of silence when time slowed, Lilith could feel it hanging in the air. Weighty and tangible. The male vampire at last tore his gaze away from Lilith and turned to the woman. He did not speak, only watched her, his eyes apparently unable to resist flicking back to Lilith every once in a while.

 

“Sir, I hardly think that is-”

 

“Lucas, I gave you an order.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

The owner of the hitherto disembodied voice rounded the corner of the doorframe and cautiously stepped into the room. He was youngish, in his early thirties Lilith would estimate, very tall and lean. Shining golden eyes set in a bronze face peppered with freckles – all crowned by the curly dark brown hair he had pulled back into a knot at the base of his skull. Most importantly, he was human.

 

Humans were easy to kill – much easier than other vampires. A tap to the head, a tap to the heart, a snap of the neck. Lilith could hear the blood as it rushed around his body; highlighting all his weakest parts, every artery mapped for her in perfect clarity. All she would have to do is reach around the second he freed one of her hands and-

 

 _Click_.

 

The shackles snapped open and she was free. Well, free within the room anyway; the ever-present pressure of the seal prevented Lilith from setting so much as a foot outside the door. It was all the space she needed.

 

Without a second thought, Lilith launched herself up out of the chair – tearing off strips of sticky, putrescent skin with the violent movement. In barely the time it took the humans to blink, the vampire stood with one pale, clawed hand extended toward the woman’s throat. Inches from making contact; not to attack, only to threaten.

 

Lilith was hyper-aware of her surroundings then, in the moments immediately following her release from the influence of the blessed silver on her mind. She knew that the human behind her was on his feet but hesitant to move forward and put himself in potential danger. She knew that the vampire had one of those pistols of his aimed at her head. Lilith risked a glance at him, down the barrel of his gun. The ghost of a smirk graced her lips; the other vampire frowned slightly, or perhaps it was a trick of the light.

 

Most of all, Lilith was aware that the woman she now threatened had not moved.

 

The woman had hardly blinked, even, and Lilith could hear her heartbeat; steady, keeping near-perfect time. She was not afraid. Lilith could respect that, even in the enemy.

 

The other woman nodded, looking Lilith up and down with her one good eye.

 

“Leave us.” The command was gentle but inarguable.

 

The vampire aiming the pistol looked less than comfortable at the idea leaving these two alone in a room together. Whether for the human woman’s safety or her own, Lilith could not tell.

 

“She won’t hurt me, will you?” The woman’s last two words were directed at Lilith alone.

 

“No.” The word slipped past the vampire’s lips before she could stop it. “That is not my order.”

 

The human woman appeared pleased, throwing the male vampire a smug glare over her shoulder. He still looked unsure. Nevertheless, he lowered his weapon and moved back to allow the man with the curly hair to squeeze out through the door, taking the shackles with him.

 

In a matter of moments, the two women were alone and the door was closed. Lilith, however, could hear the lethargic beating of one undead pulse, just slightly out of time with her own, outside the cell.

 

The state of affairs seemed to suit the human woman just fine. Still, they stood as though frozen with the vampire’s claws hovering over the human’s ochre flesh.

 

“What _is_ your order?” The woman raised a single eyebrow.

 

Lilith remained silent. Her interrogator nodded and took a long breath.

 

“Alright… what is your name?” She asked simply.

 

_What is your name?_

 

“Lilith.” Her answer was immediate.

 

The vampire’s fingers started to curl away from the other woman’s throat involuntarily. Her – now frowning – interrogator took that as a sign that she could move further into the room.

 

“That is the name you were given at birth?” Her tone made it clear she was not convinced.

 

“I…” The vampire’s voice trailed off and her eyes began to wander. Was it birth? Would she class it as that? Lilith made herself snap her attention back. “Yes.”

 

Lilith could not see the thought processes going on behind the human’s face, but she could see she had given an unexpected answer. The blonde woman leaned against a wall, arms folded over her chest. Her neat teeth worrying at her lower lip. Evidently trying to decide on her next question – Lilith could wait.

 

As the vampire moved from her spot by the door to the opposite wall from the human, she noticed the state of her wrists. While they were sluggishly rehealing, there were still smears of blood and rotted muscle splattered up her forearms in ugly grey and brown-red streaks. In some spots, she could even see through to her bone; a dull, off-white peeking through the torn flesh.

 

“Who sent you?” The woman’s next question pulled Lilith back from her reverie to see that the human had been watching her.

 

“Why should I tell you?” The vampire was calm, collected.

 

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a thought occurred to Lilith: _why not?_ She had been trained to serve and kill, not to be loyal. Her master had only given her orders to kill the heretics, not to attack anyone else, and certainly not to keep quiet. She did not know much, anyway, now Lilith thought about it as she idly peeled the wet drape of dead flesh from her arm. The vampire dropped it to the floor with a revolting _slap_. Soon enough, it would turn to dust and be no more.

 

Meanwhile, her interrogator had pulled something out of her inner jacket pocket. It was transparent, allowing Lilith to see the viscous red liquid inside. _Blood_. From the other side of the room, Lilith could only smell the plastic bag and wrinkled her nose.

 

“Because I can make it worth your while.” Holding the packet of blood casually in one hand, the woman smiled.

 

It was not like when her master smiled at her; hungry, or malicious. This woman had a genuinely inviting smile that crinkled the skin of her face like ripples in a pond. Lilith’s training told her to watch her guard – that strange, unidentifiable voice in the back of her mind told her to trust.

 

“Alright, let’s try _this_.” The human reached into one of her outer pockets and pulled out a straw with a _very_ sharp tip. “Do you know where _you_ are?”

 

Lilith hesitantly shook her head no, eyes darting down to the floor very briefly before returning to the other woman’s face.

 

“This is Hellsing – I am Integra Hellsing. Do you understand?” Integra easily pushed the straw through the plastic of the blood bag.

 

The uninterrupted smell of human blood made Lilith’s mouth water. Its potency filled the cracks in every sense she possessed. It was all she could do to remain exactly where she was, unmoving, as she had been trained. _Do not take until_ I _say so, Lilith!_ Her master’s voice echoed quietly in her head, then was drowned by her hunger. She had not eaten in a while. A long while. Something in her mind shivered and began to unravel, wake up. Every part of the vampire hungered for just a sip, a taste, even the aroma made her feel better.

 

“The name Hellsing should mean something to me.” It was not a question. The vampire knew that name, but it seemed to belong to a dream or another life; another Lilith. One that did not desperately want to cross the room and seize the blood from Integra.

 

The little crease between Integra’s brows deepened. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say too. Lilith bit her lip instinctively – worried she had jeopardized her chances of attaining the prize.

 

“I do not know my master’s name.” Her mouth was running away with her, but she wanted that blood more than she cared for whatever allegiance she might have had. “But the others call him the Cardinal.”

 

Integra’s blue eye widened in unchecked shock at that – her eyebrows almost disappearing into her hairline. The hand holding the blood lowered and she took a step toward the vampire.

 

“You are certain? The _Cardinal?_ ” There was an unsettling edge of urgency to her disbelief.

 

Lilith nodded yes.

 

The packet of blood was instantly tossed into Lilith’s eager hands. Integra still staring off at a spot on the wall just above the vampire’s head.

 

At first, Lilith hesitated; unsure as to whether this was a trick or not. Perhaps the blood was poisoned or tainted in some way, perhaps Integra would rip it from her fingers the second she raised the straw to her cracked lips.

 

She chose to allow for this small speck of optimism and placed the straw in her mouth. The first drag of the liquid was pure necessity – after that came the savouring, the true enjoyment.

 

Her master had always said that enjoying drinking blood was a sin. He said she was a monster who was cursed to be sustained only through this vilest of acts, this existence a punishment for past sins. Lilith only ever mentioned once that she could not remember these crimes for which she was apparently atoning. She was soon reminded not to do that.

 

“It’s been a while since you last fed?” Integra cocked her head to one side.

 

That received another nod. The blood was almost half gone by now.

 

“Why?”

_Why?_ There were so many times Lilith had asked herself – and her tormentors – that very question. _Why are you doing this? Why me? Why do I have to kill them?_ After thirty-odd years, she had ceased to care. Reasons did not matter to the men who had made such an effort to tame and train her. _They did it because they could, because I am a monster_. Why starve a vampire? Lilith did not have a real answer to that. She could only say what her master had once said on the subject.

 

“Because it is unholy.” Lilith shrugged a shoulder.

 

She could see Integra chewing that one – literally, in fact. The woman’s cheeks hollowed as her teeth bit into the flesh there. A quiet ‘hmm’ vibrated up her throat.

 

“Why did he send you here?”

 

Lilith hesitated again, licking a drop of blood from her lips. “To execute the heretics… the ones who attacked my master’s men.” She was feeling more and more inclined to give Integra the information she wanted as the blood made its way into her system, fulfilling her. Unfortunately, however, that was the extent of Lilith’s knowledge.

 

“What heretics? The people you were fighting in Canterbury?”

 

“If that is where we were, then yes,” Lilith replied around the straw poking out of her mouth. Integra nodded at this answer.

 

“Do you know why they attacked?” Integra looked instantly crestfallen when Lilith shook her head again.

 

The two women fell into another silence. It was not altogether comfortable, but neither was it unbearably tense. Lilith knew she could not fully trust Integra – she could not trust anyone – but she felt less threatened now. Though she remained confused as to why she was being treated this way by a human; Lilith was a monster, and had always been treated as such. This relative hospitality was unprecedented.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Integra said simply. A final, quick nod in Lilith’s direction, and the Director of Hellsing was out the door in a flash - not casting another look back at the vampire.

 

She had all she needed, for now.

 

On the other side of the door, Alucard and Lucas were still waiting for her return leaning against the wall the other side of the corridor. The butler immediately stood to attention as he saw Integra exit the cell; Alucard remained as he was, red eyes lazily scanning over his master.

 

“Well?” The vampire’s voice was low, a hint of concern lining his single-syllable question. At least he appeared to be taking the situation seriously for once; _good._

 

“She calls herself Lilith.” That got Alucard’s attention quickly enough. The vampire’s head snapped up. “Seems to be working for someone called the Cardinal – not that she seems to hold him any loyalty at all. Unless she’s hiding something.” Of course Integra would assume Lilith was hiding something until proven beyond reasonable doubt otherwise.

 

“The Cardinal?” Lucas frowned, utterly baffled. The shackles in his hand clinked together as he moved to put his knuckles on his hip – the sound echoing far too loudly in the narrow hallway. A fact that didn’t seem to bother the butler in the least.

 

“Sounds like Iscariot,” Alucard murmured darkly, pushing himself off the wall.

 

“My thoughts exactly.” Integra nodded, leaning back on one leg with her hips cocked at an angle.

 

“What in seven hells is Iscariot doing with a vampire?” Alucard folded his arms. “Don’t they know they’re playing with fire?” Lucas nodded his agreement.

 

“I don’t know.” Integra shook her head. “What I _do_ know, however, is that the reason she was in Canterbury was to kill that little party you inadvertently saved. They had attacked someone in the Cardinal’s operation – I am still assuming this is Iscariot. She was meant to be revenge.”

 

“Do we know who _they_ are?” Lucas leaned forward as he asked the question.

 

“Not at all.”

 

By their facial expressions, both men shared Integra’s own annoyance at the situation. That provided little comfort.

 

Frustratingly, her interview with Lilith had raised more questions than it had answered. Who _was_ this vampire? What had Iscariot done to her? What were they hoping to achieve? Who was this Cardinal? Lastly, most important of these unanswered questions; _who_ has attacked Iscariot and why? That last one at least Integra thought she might be able to figure out without any help from the captive vampire.

 

“Reeve, arrange a meeting with Director Makube, if you would – I have some questions for him.”

 

She didn’t think for a second that Makube would willingly surrender information, but he might let something slip that would give Hellsing a clue where to look. Integra needed to know if the group that went after Iscariot was just a threat to the Catholics or to anyone fighting the evil in the supernatural world.

 

“Yes sir.” He bowed and vanished down the corridor towards the stairs, shackles clanking as he went.

 

The butler was barely out of sight before Alucard spoke again, his tone low and just shy of soft.

 

“Integra, if you permit it I would very much like to-”

 

“I do not,” she cut across him flatly. A flicker of annoyance crossed Alucard’s pale face. “I don’t want you talking to her, not yet. You aren’t yourself around her – she changes things, changes you.”

 

Integra wasn’t sure what would happen if she left the two vampires alone in a room for any length of time. Would Lilith try to kill Alucard again? Would Alucard revert to his old self and try to possess her? While Integra wasn’t yet convinced the vampire they had in custody was the real Mina Harker, she _was_ certain that Alucard still believed it.

 

“Jealous, are we?”

 

“This isn’t a _joke_ Alucard!” Integra took a stride forward, pointer finger scathingly jutted out towards the vampire’s chest. “I am your master and I am _ordering_ you to _stay away_ from her – until I believe she is no longer a threat to the Hellsing organisation. You _will_ obey me.”

 

Though Integra was irritated she had to reiterate the point, she was content with Alucard’s answer.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was only when Integra had left the room that Lilith noticed she had drained the medical bag of all blood. The plastic scrunched with a satisfying ease in her white-knuckled fist. Lilith grinned.

 

The thought occurred to her – and not for the first time – that she had betrayed her master. Not a recommended course of action for anyone. Especially not her. He would be angry. Lilith would have to be reminded of her place.

 

The thought of _that_ made her skin crawl and her fingers twitch. She took a steadying breath in, out.

 

_This is nothing new. This fear is familiar._

 

The vampire let the exsanguinated bag drop from her fingers, landing in a pile of ashy dust. She took the few steps back to the chair in which she had previously been bound and sat back in it. Without the burning shackles, it was not as uncomfortable to sit there with her forearms lying flat on the armrests.

 

Lilith sighed in an emotion close to contentment.

 

Somehow, sitting there, surrounded by an anti-vampire ward and who knew how many Hellsing agents – not to mention the pair of vampires Lilith knew Integra had – she was not so concerned about her master coming to reclaim his property. For all the concern for her safety she might have felt in the given situation, something in Lilith told her that she was right where she wanted to be. Plans and master be damned.

 

_This is nothing new. This is familiar._


	4. Damage Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to say thank you to you who have subscribed to this story - it means the world that you want to read it.
> 
> This chapter contains more than my average amount of artistic lore-bending, probably; when Heinkel is speaking just think amatuer ventriloquist. Also, you finally get to meet the mysterious attackers!

[The Vatican]

 

A brisk wind blew through the Vatican gardens where Makube casually strolled, coat pulled up around his neck. While he might complain about the inferno of Section XIII, he was not so used to the refreshing cold. The weather report that morning said it would dip below ten degrees – the Archbishop would have said it was lower.

 

He had been forced to seek the escape of fresh air and neat green gardens when sorting out the fiasco caused by the mysterious _whoevertheyweres_ attacking Heinkel and her captives had become too much. Not to mention the Cardinal’s decision to send Lilith after them.

 

The vampire had been gone almost a day and Makube was getting the sinking feeling that his initial reaction would prove to be correct. If Lilith did not return soon, he figured, she would not return at all. Perhaps she had been killed. Perhaps she had gone rogue and was off turning England into a nesting pit of ghouls. That wouldn’t bother Makube in the least. Perhaps – heaven forbid – Hellsing had found her and added her to Integra’s collection.

 

_Well, it’s not much of a collection now Alucard is dead._

 

A pair of monk parrots flew overhead; flashes of green against the chilly azure sky. Makube watched them perch in a nearby tree and begin to preen. They were pretty things, the Archbishop could appreciate that, but he was somewhat jealous of their lack of problems to be constantly fixing. Then again, Makube thought he would be very bored living life as a parrot.

 

Pushing his thought back to more urgent matters, Makube decided that there were too many outcomes to Lilith’s unauthorised mission to bear thinking about it for too long. Besides, if he’d wanted a guarantee, he should have sent someone after _her_. If only that small part of him that _wanted_ this risk to work had kept quiet.

 

Makube was glad, at least, that he went for an ecclesiastical vocation – in any other life he might have been a rampant gambler.

 

He sighed out a puff of steam as he heard someone ambling through the garden towards him – evidently his respite was over. Brief as it had been.

 

“Chief!” He recognised one of the heralds; ran messages to and from various departments in Section XIII all the time. Makube was struggling to remember the name of the one standing ram-rod straight in front of him.

 

“Something important, I take it?” The Archbishop asked monotonously.

 

Evidently this particular herald was reasonably new and not used to the Director’s generally dispassionate nature. Makube sighed again.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Oh, a message came through for you, sir-”

 

 _Perfect_.

 

“-from Hellsing-”

 

_Even better._

“-Sir Hellsing wants to meet with you.”

 

Makube simply closed his eyes – as though willing it all away would change anything. He was beginning to think that life as a parrot might not be such a bad alternative after all.

 

“Lucky. Me.” He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Without looking back at the herald, Makube adopted a glaringly false sweet tone to his voice. “Does _Sir Hellsing_ want me presently, or must I wait for further summons?”

 

“I, uh… well Hellsing was told your schedule would be checked and arrangements made.”

 

He could hear them shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other. Where _was_ personnel finding these people? Not a backbone between them.

 

“ _And?_ ” Makube demanded, at last flicking his gaze up to fix on the nervy herald.

 

“They… uh, hung up.”

 

He made a mental note to have a quiet word with personnel.

 

“I meant my schedule – when do I have time to deal with whatever _nonsense_ she has cooked up now?” He strode forward the single step it took him to get from where he was to the herald.

 

“Ah!” The herald physically jumped when Makube was directly in front of them. It was all the Director could do not to shake some sense into them. “Two days hence, chief… sir.”

 

“Right.”

 

Makube stormed past the quivering herald, wanting nothing more than to be out of their company. Simultaneously loathing the fact that it meant he had to return to Section XIII and its various messes. _Joy, oh rapture._

 

A quick apology prayer was hot on the heels of that thought.

 

The garden entrance to Section XIII – the only entrance actually situated in the Vatican City – was a large trapdoor hidden under the turf at the base of one of the palm trees. Its location was unknown by most, even in the Church. If anyone ever did happen across it, they would merely be confused as to why the ground seemed to go down in that particular spot. The door was so thick it never admitted the floor was hollow. The chances of anyone ever realising it was a door and not just an eccentric practical joke on the part of the head gardener were low-to-none – as evidenced by the fact that no one ever _had_ accidently discovered it. Let alone try to open its six-part lock and biometric security system.

 

Makube made his way hastily to the door; hidden in the north-west of the Vatican City, where the wall of the gardens jutted out into the surrounding city of Rome. It was an area generally low on visitors. Ideal, really.

 

The position also meant that the tunnels making up Section XIII itself were situated outside the walls of the Vatican City. This having the benefit of being considered a part of the Vatican City State, but not being on consecrated ground – perfect for carrying out some of their less-than-completely-holy operations. All a means to an end, of course.

 

That also being how the Cardinal was able to hide a vampire down there for so long. Makube wasn’t going to forget _that_ anytime soon.

 

The Director perfunctorily went through the necessary steps to unlocking the reinforced steel trapdoor. Once his finger prints, eye-scan, and voice recognition had been accepted – the final steps of the whole ritual – a series of _clunks_ and rattles sounded before the door hissed and slid sideways under the grass to the right. Makube loosened his vice-grip on his coat collar and descended the steps. No sooner was his head clear than the door slammed back into place – the grass mechanically flipping back into place over it.

 

At the bottom of the steps, Makube was greeted by the afternoon shift of guards. Four serious faces nodded their salutation rather than speak. One of them offered to take the Director’s coat. The article was whipped off his shoulders and flicked nonchalantly at the guard without a second glance from Makube – who was marching down the corridor.

 

All of the entrances to Section XIII fed into the main rabbit-warren through long, two-person-wide, corridors. The one direct from the Vatican itself was the shortest and most used. Still, the lights down the steadily descending tunnel, as in all the entrances, were on motion-sensors. Makube’s idea to save money. Each light clicked on a second before he reached the edge of the previous light’s glow and clicked off once he was several paces ahead.

 

As usual, the difference between the entrance corridor and the more commonly-utilised areas was staggering. Makube went from the quiet, solitary, access corridor – with only faint murmurs indicating its close proximity to a workplace – to a veritable hive. Without hesitation, he dove in amongst the crowds of agents moving this way and that. They hurriedly parted before him; barely even exchanging concerned expressions with their co-workers.

 

Makube wrenched open the door to his office – situated a floor below the entrance corridor – and closed it softly behind him; shutting out the worst of the ceaseless ruckus. With a sigh he swiped a piece of his fringe from his eyes and turned back to the room. He didn’t notice at first that the lights he had turned off before going out were now on.

 

“Oh! Heinkel.” The Archbishop took a half-step backwards, grunting as his head connected sharply with the door. “You’re back.”

 

Heinkel sat in Makube’s brand new desk chair, one leg neatly crossed over the other, regarding him with a cold stare. The fingers of her left hand lay casually sprawled next to the keyboard, digits tapping slowly one after the other. If possible, her grey-green eyes seemed even icier than usual.

 

She wouldn’t be the one to speak first, not when she was evidently still reeling from the attack.

 

“I’ve heard that the assailants went to England, is this true?”

 

Heinkel nodded slowly.

 

“You told his _Eminence_ ,” Makube hissed the title as he always did, “before you told me?”

 

The assassin growled; an ugly, reverberating sound like uneven metal chunks in a vibrating tin can. It had been so ever since the Captain decimated Heinkel’s face despite the handful of surgical procedures she had allowed done to improve her speech. Self-regeneration could only take a person so far, apparently.

 

“I am still in charge here, Heinkel, I still have the right to know _first_.” He strode forward along a path curving around the desk. Heinkel obligingly swivelled the chair around to face him – the annoyed expression still on her face.

 

“I ga’e ze ‘essage to connunications – zey ‘err ze uns oo ga’e ze ‘essage to ze Cardinal.” Heinkel had problems bringing her lips together to form certain letters – still getting used to the most recent round of surgery – but Makube got the gist.

 

“I need to have a word with communication about the chain of command, then.” His voice trailed off toward the end of the sentence. The Director lightly scratched his chin. “How long have you been back?”

 

Heinkel shrugged. Not long, then.

 

“You won’t know, then.” Not a muscle of Heinkel’s face twitched in response. “As a result of that message getting through to his Eminence, he saw fit to send an agent to that cesspool of a country.”

 

Makube barely had a chance to stagger backwards before Heinkel surged out of the chair, hissing and spluttering like a wild cat. He had known even with her generally level-headed disposition, she would be pissed off.

 

Out of the high-speed garbled, interweaving German and English, Makube could only understand one hoarsely-uttered word:

 

“ _Hoo?_ ”

 

A sinking feeling unlike any other he had ever experienced before took root in Makube’s gut at the prospect of telling Heinkel Wolfe that a vampire had been sent to Hellsing’s backyard instead of her. Let alone that Iscariot even had a vampire to send. Still, he had to tell her.

 

The ensuing hollering-shriek could be heard throughout most of sub-level 2.

 

“ _Lilit’!?_ ” Heinkel spat. Her face had surpassed red and gone straight to purple. “A… _‘antire!?_ ” She looked even more enraged – if that was possible – at her inability to say the word ‘vampire.’

 

“It wasn’t _my_ idea!” Makube surreptitiously shuffled around her and sat in his chair, fingers laced together over his stomach. “If I had known the Cardinal had taken a vampire prisoner there is no way I would have allowed her to live.” He didn’t even hesitate as the easy lie spilled over his lips. “We haven’t even heard back from her and _now_ … now…”

 

He was suddenly regretting moving onto this train of thought. Heinkel looked at him expectantly – hand gesturing outward in Makube’s direction. The Director cleared his throat and leant heavily on his desk.

 

“Now _Sir Hellsing_ wants a word.”

 

“ _What!?_ ” Heinkel’s eyes blew wide. At least her anger seemed to be helping her overcome her speech impediment a little, though she retained the slight slurring. “She nust ha’ Lilit’; nust ha’e ca’tured her-”

 

“Heinkel-”

 

“-and now Lilit’ has told Hellsing to co’e a’ter _us!_ ”

 

“ _Ms Wolfe!_ ” The Director sprang out of his chair, sending it spinning back towards the wall. His eyebrows practically met in the middle and his jaw ached from the force with which he ground his teeth.

 

Heinkel stood her ground.

 

“It is _adhorrent_ zat… zat vwe,” Makube could see the amount of effort Heinkel was putting in to pronounce things clearly, “– ze Holy ‘ozer _Church_ – vould have a… an undead in our ranks. ‘articularly un so incontrollavle.”

 

Having spirit and conviction to the cause was a desired and admiral trait in Iscariot agents. Such characteristics had earned Heinkel many accolades of praise over the years throughout their corner of the Vatican. Nevertheless, he would _not_ be spoken to like that. A fist clenched by the Director’s side.

 

“If being _controllable_ was a requirement for Section XIII then I’d wager you would be out of here before you could recite the Lord’s prayer!” His lip gave a single, unnoticeable, twitch.

 

Heinkel stared at him, the purple shade of her cheeks now long-gone. Though the assassin still looked about ready to kill.

 

“Or need I remind you of your place, _hm?_ ” Makube raised his eyebrows. “Whenever you here that a job will take Iscariot near Britain or Hellsing, you intimidate your way onto the mission whether or not your skills are required.”

 

“No un knows Hellsing like I do!” Though there was an urgency to her words – a need to be right – it was obvious that Heinkel was taking the criticism to heart. She was no longer shouting or glaring at Makube. The Archbishop took this as a direct improvement.

 

“Still, you do not accept orders when they involve Hellsing – particularly the vampire Seras Victoria.”

 

After allowing a moment for his words to sink in beneath that thick skin of hers, Makube sank gratefully down into his chair. Heinkel remained silent as he pulled the chair up to the desk and tapped the passcode into his computer.

 

“All zat I do, I do vor ze _Church_ ,” Heinkel croaked out. Makube noted that her hands were in tight, white-knuckled fists.

 

“The last I heard, the Church had asked you to train some new recruits.” The Director didn’t tear his gaze from the glowing monitor of his desktop.

 

He knew the new agents wouldn’t arrive for another couple of days, but he wanted to make a point. A _you do as you are told_ point. From what he could see of Heinkel’s face from peripheral vision alone, his words had done the trick.

 

Heinkel couldn’t bring herself to say anything more; throwing open the office door and leaving as quickly as she could.

 

Makube huffed when she purposely left the door wide open.

 

* * *

 

[A Safehouse, Outskirts of Munich]

 

“I’m telling you; it was ‘ellsing – it _‘ad_ to be!” For what felt like the hundredth time since they had left Canterbury – or perhaps it _was_ the hundredth time – Hector was reiterating his farfetched theory.

 

For the hundredth time, his comrades groaned their complaints.

 

Well, all of them but their scrawny intelligencer, Otmar. He jutted out a finger at the others.

 

“Perhaps he is onto somesing – no, no _listen_ to me-”

 

“How hard did zat bitch vis ze crossbow hit you, boy?” Wenzel’s gruff comment was met with soft chuckles all around the room. Otmar only sneered at the older man’s jibe. “Hector always sinks Hellsink is out to get us – you should know better.”

 

Petra soon tuned them all out. For the time being, whether or not the two who had joined the fight in Canterbury were associated with Hellsing was neither her concern nor her call.

 

She sat on the cold dining table, swinging her short legs back and forth. With her fingers hooked over its edge each side of her legs, her fingertips just touching the metal frame, she leaned back and stared up at the ceiling.

 

It was easily just as dingy as everything else in this safehouse: a naked bulb tethered to the centre of the ceiling by a crooked white rubber cord; cracks in the plaster making upside-down canyons almost the width of the room; yellow patches to show where smokers had once stood; tangled cobwebs stretching out as far as they could from the corners. At least the walls had their faded, crumbling floral wallpaper to recommend them.

 

For all its faults, this was the closest thing they had to a home.

 

A yell of frustration caused the young woman to jump up; the table creaked in protest. She whipped her head around to see Otmar hitting his lighter into the palm of his hand, a cigarette held loosely between his lips.

 

The others – Hector and Wenzel – were unprovoked by the German’s minor distress. They were both too busy cleaning out their weapons, it being the first real opportunity to do so since their attack on Iscariot. Apparently all talk of the infamous Hellsing organisation had evaporated.

 

With a feline grin, Petra easily pushed herself off the table hips-first and sauntered over to the man. She held out her good hand, the left one, keeping her right, which had been burned in the fight, behind her back.

 

“Mind if I try?” She asked coquettishly. Otmar scoffed, but handed her the lighter all the same.

 

“You can try, fräulein, but I zink zis vone hast gone kaput.”

 

He leaned forward, sticking out the cigarette in his mouth most prominently. Petra, too, moved closer, her hand clasping the disposable lighter with one thumb hovering over the igniter.

 

This near to Otmar, Petra could just see the threads of white hair he had hidden among the blond. From further away it was almost unnoticeable and he did not appear his full forty-five years but for the deepening smile-lines framing his mouth. Petra liked the way he looked, though, and she liked that she had an excuse to get this close to him. Nonetheless, the lighter would not oblige.

 

Petra moved away, disappointed, her hand dropped to her side. Otmar shrugged jovially with a good-natured smile.

 

From behind her, Petra heard the sound of a match being struck and smelled the ashy smoke that came with it. Without so much as an ‘excuse me,’ Vérène leaned past Petra and held the burning match to the end of Otmar’s cigarette – which lit without complaint.

 

“Sank you.” Otmar nodded as Vérène turned away, shaking the fire out of the match.

 

Vérène paid him no mind. She did not need to – no sooner had she entered a room than all eyes were on her. She had skin like a night sky with no stars, striking features, a halo of buoyant black hair, and she was _tall_. Petra would have been jealous if she didn’t find the woman so attractive herself. To those that knew, Vérène de Sauveterre was also an unstoppable force that could break into and out-of any building you showed her.

 

She strode over to her brother and Wenzel, her boots making sticky sounds with each step across the stain-covered floor. Even though the woman said nothing, it was implicit that she expected everyone to pay attention. Just as she reached their table, Vérène threw down a newspaper over their tool kits.

 

Wenzel immediately scowled up at her, Hector just scanned his eyes over the page in front of him.

 

“What is zis?” Hector at last looked up her.

 

“A newspaper.” She rolled her eyes, muttering French expletives under her breath. “Read it.”

 

After a frustrated sigh, Hector did as he was commanded. He never could refuse his little sister. It did not take him long to scan through the article while everyone else waited for his appraisal.

 

“Vell?” Otmar blew a column of smoke up at the ceiling. “Vat does it say?”

 

“Zat zere was a problem wiz rioters in Canterbury…” Hector paused to scratch his nose. “What of it, uh? You know zis was us.”

 

“Keep reading!” Vérène stabbed a finger back at the article impatiently. Hector hunkered down over the paper once again, but he was taking too long for Vérène’s taste. “Furzer on, eet talks about locals noticing a sudden fog in zee centre of town. Zere was no reason for it, zen eet disappeared jus’ like zat.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis.

 

By this time, Wenzel had turned the paper around and was reading it for himself, stroking his short grey beard idly. Petra, too, decided it was time to have a look. The young woman padded her way over to stand at Wenzel’s elbow, fingers skimming the rough wooden edge of the table.

 

“Vat ist your point, hmm?” Otmar was suddenly beside Petra, leaning over Wenzel’s shoulder to get a better look at the article. “Ist just fog!”

 

“Nein, it ist not.” They all turned to see Alois standing in the doorway, pale and thin, his twin sister unmoving in the room behind him.

 

As Alois and Gisela walked forward, the gathering opened out into a haphazard semicircle. Petra had been a member of this elite society of freedom-fighters for the shortest time out of all of them – only three years. She remembered the first time she felt the silence that draped itself like wet cloth over a room as the twins entered. It always happened. The young explosives expert still did not understand what it was with these eerie siblings, why everyone followed them so unquestioningly, yet she accepted their word as law as much as the others.

 

No one spoke, only waited for Alois to explain himself. The man steadily made his way over to Hector and Wenzel’s table and calmly took the newspaper. No one even thought of stopping him. A quick glance over the article and he nodded, passing a grim look to his sister. Gisela sighed heavily.

 

“Vee vere vorried it vas true as soon as vee got your phone message.” The woman shook her head, her sandy tresses swaying with the movement. “Zis vas no ordinary fight.”

 

“Hector ist qvuite correct, zis vas done by a vampire.” Alois nodded sagely at Hector – who could barely keep the smug grin off his face.

 

“A real vampire? Mein Gott.” Wenzel murmured, Petra saw the fingers of his right hand twitch.

 

A little while after she joined, the young woman learned that Wenzel was raised a Catholic before he came here and sometimes had to repress the natural inclination to cross himself. She imagined the impulse was quite strong now.

 

“ _Zis_ was what I was trying to tell you!” Vérène slapped her brother’s shoulder. The woman glanced up at the twins to gain their nod of approval before continuing. “Ze article is not much to go on as ze reporter could not actually _see_ anysing.”

 

She walked over and grabbed the tattered lever-arch file from the table where Petra had previously been sitting. Opening it with a _click_ , Vérène started to leaf through all their past jobs and back-burner projects. “‘Owever, ze bizarre circumstances detailed in zis report ‘ave striking similarities wis anozer article.”

 

From the file, she pulled out a yellowed sheaf of paper – the words “London Terrorist Massacre?” as the headline. They had all seen the report dozens of times before. To be honest, Petra thought Vérène was being over-dramatic in getting it out again. Most of the articles about the incident in 1999 were nondescript, sensationalist pieces featuring high-powered weapons and strange weather. No one seemed to know anything concrete about it – or were not believed. Only one article published in a magazine most people would not look twice at had anything more. It claimed the survivors were saying that the supposed terrorists were actually cannibals and the reason this truth had not come out in the major papers was because everyone had been sworn to secrecy by the shadow-organisation that called itself “Hellsing.”

 

It was, unsurprisingly, this same article that the tall Frenchwoman was now brandishing around their shack. Vérène brought the paper over to Gisela and started pointing excitedly at various points in the column.

 

“What few eye-witness reports zere were all agreed zat zere was a mist zat came out of nowhere and some even believe zat ze cannibals were, in fact, vampires.” Gisela nodded along as Vérène explained.

 

“So vat?” Otmar flicked his cigarette onto the tiled floor and stamped it into the faded terracotta. “I do not undershtand your point.”

 

“It is ze zame vampires from zirty-one years ago!” Hector slapped the tabletop, sending most of the metal tools shuddering and spinning in all directions. A couple of them even wound up on the floor. Wenzel huffed but Hector ignored him. “Jus’ like I was saying!”

 

“Zis could be a chance complete what our parents were trying to do! To find ‘ellsing at last!” Vérène murmured proudly to her brother, a possessive hand on his shoulder, he didn’t mind in the least.

 

“Your fahzer made a great many mistakes, fräulein. Particularly after what happened in ‘99.” Wenzel calmly fixed the woman with his ice-blue eyes. Not for the first time among these people, Petra felt that she was missing something.

 

“What about ze people we lost trying to take down zis corrupt organisation, huh?” Vérène pulled herself up to her full-height, towering above the seated old man. “Do we not owe to zem? Does ze world not ‘ave a right to know what really ‘appened? It is our duty to pursue zis!”

 

A slow clap from Alois instantly dissipated the building tension, diverting all attention from Vérène back to the twins. The very air in the room seemed to stop and wait for him.

 

“Bravo, a very impressive dishplay ov your devotion to zee cause, Vérène.” His clapping slowed even more, then stopped, as he spoke. “You raise an intereshtink point.”

 

“So we will attack ‘ellsing?” Vérène asked hopefully.

 

“Perhaps,” Gisela answered with a sweet smile. “Vee need more information before vee proceed.”

 

Petra could easily see Vérène’s disappointment – sagging shoulders and mouth open in a small ‘o’ – the woman was uniquely skilled at showing her heart on her sleeve. Both the de Sauveterre’s were, though Hector’s temperament tended to run a little closer to boiling rage than his sister’s. The twins were the only ones who seemed genuinely ignorant of their emotional indiscretions.

 

“Otmar.” Alois spoke suddenly; the intelligencer stood ram-rod straight when his name was called. “You musht find everysink you can on zee Hellsink organisation – I do not care how old it ist, you undershtand?”

 

“Ja.” Otmar nodded sharply. Petra wondered if, should a strong breeze bluster through the windows, he would snap in half.

 

“Zee rest of you; I know zat, traditionally, research is outside of your purview but we must make zee exception, so-”

 

Petra wanted to groan aloud at the thought of research. Reading was not her strong suit; blowing holes in walls was much more her speed.

 

“Vee need you to look into how to kill a vampire,” Gisela finished for him; she then cast her gaze around the room, looking pointedly at each person to ensure their cooperation. Even Petra found herself inclining her head in affirmation.

 

Alois nodded solemnly when she got to him. No one spoke. Without further instruction, the pair of them glided silently back into their room.

 

No one questioned or stopped them; that was their way. Everyone watched them vanish from sight. Everyone heard the lock of the door fall into place.

 

That, as usual, was that.


	5. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while, this chapter just did not want to get started - all good once it did, though so no worries! I hope you enjoy!

[Greenwich, London]

 

Another blast of frigid air bit through Integra’s skin as she stood looking down towards the ominous, swirling grey water of the Thames. Still she refused to pull her thick scarf any tighter than it now was; old she may be but she’d be damned if she was going to act like it. A quick glance to her left told her that her butler had already given in to the chill and, as well as having his back to the wind, had cinched his fur-edged hood tightly around his face by the toggles. It did nothing to stop his nose reddening.

 

Integra couldn’t resist a smirk as she leaned towards him. “Don’t worry, Reeve, they’ll be here in less than a minute.”

 

“They’d better be,” Lucas answered her in mock terseness, “or else I will be strongly suggesting that one of us break their legs as punishment for being late, Sir.” He added the last word with a mischievous glint in his amber eyes.

 

Integra knew full-well that ‘one of us’ meant Sir Hellsing herself – Lucas being opposed to violence in all but the most necessary of circumstances. She liked that about him. Being surrounded by literal bloodthirsty vampires all the time – even Seras had her moments – it was refreshing to have a diplomat propose a course of action a little less drastic than murder sometimes. Other times, even Integra couldn’t handle his partial pacifism.

 

If Makube was even one minute late, it would certainly be one of those times.

 

Integra stood still and stoic as the wind lifted and twisted her grey-blond hair, tugging at every part of her, every inch of bare skin, every thread of her clothes. The cold made her empty eye-socket ache as the skin around it stretched in the decreased temperature. The gusts were being channelled from the water’s edge up to where Integra and Lucas stood by the long column-lined university buildings either side – blocking in the flat grass and paved pathways between them. With a warm, wicked sense of satisfaction coiled in her gut, Integra thought how Makube would likely be finding the conditions near-intolerable. Certainly, if her steadily-freezing butler was any indication.

 

A gaggle of excited school children spilled past the unmoving pair; seemingly carried on the wind itself. Integra only peripherally caught the tender smile that crossed Lucas’ features as the brightly-coloured party flowed around them from one building to the next, patiently shepherded by their exhausted teacher. No sooner were the children gone – quick as morning mist – than Integra heard footsteps click on the path behind her.

 

At her elbow Integra felt Lucas stiffen, though he had the good grace not to narrow his eyes at the Archbishop despite how much Integra knew he misliked the man.

 

“I’m surprised you’re already here, Sir Hellsing, rather than making us wait for you to finish your afternoon tea.” Integra could hear the sneer in the younger man’s voice even before she turned around.

 

“It is exactly half past twelve in the afternoon,” she answered, voice icier than any winter wind. “That is entirely too early for afternoon tea.”

 

As expected, when she at last turned to look at the Archbishop, Makube was positively _glowing_ red in the frosty air. That or Integra had just royally pissed him off – not a possibility she would dismiss lightly. Against the chill Makube wore a long, black woollen coat, with fur draped over the lapels, and a pair of snug-fit gloves. Integra idly hoped they were lined with something.

 

Beside him were two assistants Integra did not recognise. Both had matching uniforms and close-cropped, white hair. She was tempted to ask him where Heinkel was – the regenerator usually first in Makube’s travelling party – but that would invite questions about Seras and she had no wish to launch the meeting in that direction. Particularly when Makube had no idea Alucard was back.

 

“There is something we need to discuss,” Integra began, not willing to let him lead the conversation at all.

 

“Evidently, or else you would not have _summoned_ me nine-hundred miles to this dismal little island.” A muscle in Makube’s face twitched – his assistants, conversely, remained still as statues.

 

“Now, now, Archbishop,” Lucas’ silky, persuasive voice ebbed tauntingly through the air in a vanishing puff of steam. Integra didn’t need to look to know he had his great-grandfather’s pocket watch out and had swung it nonchalantly into his gloved palm with a definitive _smack_. “There’s no need to be uncivil.”

 

Even from three feet away Integra could see Makube was biting back his irritation by chewing the insides of his cheeks. That brought the almost-innocent brush of a smirk to her chapped lips.

 

Integra had wondered more than once if the Director of Iscariot knew the supernatural properties of the timepiece Lucas invariably kept on his person – more specifically if he could sense them. Makube had seen it often enough by now. Now she had her answer in the bristling of his demeanour and hardening of his features; he very much did.

 

The watch itself was gold and plain aside from the web of fine scratches dusting the cover. It was what had been done to it by its original owner that made it so special. Lucas had never explained the full details of its upgrade but the essentials were that with it, one could put an enemy into a trance with varying degrees of strength through the emitter installed among the clockwork. While Lucas shied away from violence, he certainly wasn’t opposed to a few light threats. That was another thing Integra liked about him.

 

“No, indeed,” Makube growled – face laboriously static.

 

Lucas was apparently satisfied with that answer as he gave a cheery little hum and snapped the watch shut. With one effortless swipe of his hand, the heirloom was safely tucked back into one of the butler’s many pockets.

 

“Shall we get down to business then, Hellsing?” The Director asked with forced exasperation.

 

“Quite.” Integra took a confident step forward, not breaking eye contact for a second. “You know, I have long admired the papal galleries-”

 

“I am sure His Holiness will be more than pleased to know _that_ ,” Makube replied monotonously.

 

Integra responded by holding up a single hand. “I was simply wondering how long a _vampire_ had been part of the collection.”

 

Makube looked like he might laugh, or choke. There was definitely _something_ that flickered in his brown eyes. Integra wasn’t totally sure if it was fear or anger.

 

“I don’t know what you-”

 

Integra held up her hand again.

 

“You are not quite ready to try lying to me, Chief Makube. I know that you sent a vampire to these shores because I have her in my custody – and don’t bother trying to tell me she isn’t with you because she told me her master was a cardinal.” Integra paused for a moment; a little concerned from his current expression that Makube might explode all over her if she didn’t.

 

“Now, either you are extraordinarily stupid and are unaware that one of the cardinals has been keeping a vampire, or, you know _exactly_ what I am talking about.” She willed her good eye to look menacingly on the shivering Archbishop – after more than a few years of practice, she knew the look would have the desired effect.

 

Makube drew his lips into a thin line as though he was considering another lie – Integra arched one eyebrow and quickly executed _that_ avenue for him.

 

“Lilith.” He said the name on a heavy sigh as he crossed his arms.

 

Integra nodded and waited for him to continue.

 

“I am not at liberty to discuss that _particular_ venture with you, Sir Hellsing.”

 

“Would you ever consider yourself at liberty to discuss _any_ venture of yours with me, Chief?”

 

Makube’s lips twitched for a millisecond into an unattractive smirk. As usual, Integra was feeling thoroughly fed up with his attitude.

 

“Well _this particular_ venture – as you call it – attacked civilians on the street.” She felt no compunction to tell him the civilians in question were armed. With grenades.

 

“Now, now, Sir Hellsing, it is you playing the liar.” Makube looked far too smug for his own good. “Lilith was sent after a group of fugitives who sought asylum here – no harm was meant on the natives of Great Britain.”

 

“But it would have been no skin off your nose if they were caught in the crossfire, right?” Lucas called from over Integra’s shoulder – not having moved the entire conversation.

 

Makube spread his hands and smiled. “What can I say? Collateral damage is inevitable in our line of work, no?”

 

Lucas huffed.

 

“Regardless, they came straight here.” The sickening grin had yet to leave Makube’s mouth; the only purpose the expression served was to let Integra know that she wasn’t going to like whatever the weaselly man said next. “At first I wondered about that but then it occurred to me that they came to England with such decisiveness because they were coming here anyway – which, of course, leads me to a question of my own… Why did you send operatives to attack Heinkel’s operations in Grenada?”

 

For the first time in this whole meeting, Makube’s assistants were watching Integra intensely. Where previously they had been staring straight ahead, both of them had snapped their attention to the Director of Hellsing with unnerving synchronisation. Integra wondered pettily if they had practised the move.

 

“I did nothing of the sort.” She forced her voice to remain level, though a few murmurs of her anger at his presumptiveness rumbled through and she knew it. “The first I knew of these people was when I was debriefed of the situation after the fact – the little I have gleaned since then was from Lilith herself.”

 

“Come now, Sir Hellsing, don’t argue the point; it’s a lost cause.”

 

“I didn’t come here to argue.” Her voice raised in volume slightly – truth be told, it was all she could do not to shout. “I came here to end this before it dissolves into the chaos that occurred the last time Hellsing and Iscariot found themselves on opposing sides.”

 

Makube blinked back his mock-insulted surprise.

 

“You think me as insane as Enrico Maxwell?”

 

Integra’s lips quirked at the corners as she saw her opportunity. “He was not always so mad – no more than any other Catholic.”

 

Makube gave a cold smirk; obviously unamused by Integra’s petty jibe. Integra rolled her eyes in exasperation – this was going on too long and getting them nowhere.

 

“If I had ordered the attack on Iscariot, do you honestly think I would have called this meeting?”

 

The Archbishop’s eyebrows bent into the shadow of a frown for less than a beat. There was no mistaking that emotion; he was genuinely confused.

 

At least he finally seemed to realise she was telling the truth.

 

“You mean to tell me that this is… _coincidence!?_ ”

 

“Just so.” Integra pursed her lips; amusement bright in her blue eye. “You still haven’t answered my original question, however; how long have you had that vampire?”

 

While her immediate issue was really these armed nonentities, Integra was more than aware of the importance of identifying Lilith once and for all. She would never hear the end of it from Alucard if she didn’t – _now_.

 

Makube’s shoulders sagged and the narrowing of his eyes took on a new hate-filled venom.

 

“That information is known only to her master,” he hissed.

 

_Damn_.

 

“And what of these fugitives?”

 

“You think I’m going to tell you _that?_ ” Makube scoffed, shaking his head.

 

“I think I should know about potential threats to the safety and security of Great Britain, her colonies, and her peoples.” Integra had a hankering to press the steel of her sword up against his gullet, but she could see another school party gathered at their teacher’s ankles just behind Makube. The Knight flexed her hand. “It is little enough to ask, don’t you think, _Chief?_ ”

 

In the ensuing silence, frosty wind threaded between the five people stood there. Integra didn’t flinch, only glared at her opponent. Makube imitated the look perfectly until the cold sent an unintentional shiver through him. Then he looked much like a cat pretending it _meant_ to fall off the chair.

 

“Even if I _wanted_ to, I don’t know anything more.” The admission in itself evidently rankled with him.

 

“I’d settle for why they attacked your operations.” Integra shrugged. An instinct she had come to rely on heavily in her years as Director of Hellsing told her she needed to know. Now wasn’t going to be the time she ignored that feeling.

 

“Because they oppose us, obviously.” The sneer made an ugly return. Integra was beginning to think Makube incapable of anything except ugliness – she could only assume that spoke more of the man’s personality than anything else.

 

Integra ignored Lucas muttering “who doesn’t?”

 

“ _Why?_ ” She edged forward even more, now mere inches from Makube.

 

“I do not know.” Every word was particularly enunciated to get his point across.

 

Integra searched his eyes for any hint of dishonesty – a shadow, a flicker, anything. Unfortunately for her, she found nothing and retracted back to her original position a few steps away from the Archbishop. Her irritated huff visibly puffed-out into the icy air.

 

They had reached a kind of impasse; Integra wanted more information before she decided what course of action to take and Makube was as in the dark as she was. If these attackers were little more than anti-Iscariot activists then she saw no reason to lift a finger. Alternatively, if they were more interested in meddling with the supernatural – a very real possibility since their target was the task-force of the Vatican specifically charged with eradicating the evil supernatural – then there might be a problem. Particularly if they had no care either for country borders or the unspoken lines drawn up between Hellsing and Iscariot following the Battle of London.

 

“Well, then.” Integra flexed her fingers to make her hands feel a little less useless. She still wanted Makube to be at the point of her blade. “Since there is nothing more, Chief Makube, I will bid you good day.” Her tone left no uncertainty as to the fact that she most certainly did _not_ want him to have a good day. She turned back to the Thames and her freezing butler.

 

“You are forgetting one thing, Hellsing.”

 

She suppressed a growl. “What’s that?”

 

“The vampire in your custody,” Makube’s foot tapped on the paving as he took a step towards Integra, “she is still Iscariot property and, as such, ought to be returned.”

 

_Well,_ that’s _not going to happen._

 

“I wanted to keep my guest a little while longer, if you don’t mind, _Chief_.” She tapped the sword at her hip  to draw attention to it. “It’s been a while since I’ve had visitors.”

 

Integra imagined that Makube was probably fuming by this point – since Iscariot was still severely crippled, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her if she wanted to keep Lilith from him. Perhaps the Archbishop was even wearing out the palms of his gloves by gripping his fists too tight. By the smug smirk of Lucas’ face, Integra reckoned she had guessed accurately.

 

Nonetheless, the reply came back smooth as silk. “Very well, don’t keep her too long – certain people will begin to miss her _terribly_. They might even go looking for her.”

 

Integra had no trouble recognising the indiscrete threat for what it was but that was _all_ it was. Makube could threaten all he liked, that still didn’t change the numbers and the fact that Hellsing was much stronger than Iscariot at this point – and on home ground.

 

The blonde woman gave a curt nod over her shoulder and marched off in the direction of the water. She was grateful to hear only one set of steps practically skipping to keep up with her. With any luck, Makube would vanish into thin air and the Hellsing Director would never have to lay eyes on his odious face ever again.

 

Integra’s pace didn’t slow until she had slid into the back seat of the car.

 

Lucas collapsed into the driver’s seat, panting.

 

“Do you believe him?” The butler managed between heavy breaths.

 

“No.” Integra stared out of the blackened windows at nothing in particular. “At least not entirely. He doesn’t know much about these mysterious attackers, but he’s holding back about Lilith. I suppose we’ll just have to find out our information the old-fashioned way.”

 

“Oh?” He started the car and began pulling away – route to the mansion already mapped in his head.

 

“By ourselves.”

 

* * *

 

[Hellsing HQ]

 

Lilith stood against the cold concrete wall; her eyes closed, both palms flat against the rough, grainy surface. She could feel the power of the seal keeping her in the room thrum under her fingertips. Having been held in her cell for a while now, it had become a familiar presence pressing gently on the edges of her consciousness.

 

A familiarity which she could sense being disturbed.

 

Lilith opened her eyes and glared at the door. Beyond it, she could feel someone _fiddling_ with the seal. No, not someone – _him_.

 

The vampire she had fought and failed to kill; the one of whom they had not warned her. Lilith had known all about the younger, blonde she-vampire with the rocket-launcher; had known how Hellsing relied on her, how she was to be killed on sight – _no matter who that might upset_. Lilith still did not know exactly what her master had meant by that comment.

 

She had been, however, totally unprepared for the male vampire in the long red coat and broad-brimmed hat. The one who had smelled of death – not in the way that the Cardinal did – but sweetly; as though somehow beckoning her. Something in that scent seemed so very familiar, and it threw her more than she would care to admit. Certainly much more than she could tell her master.

 

It felt like a tug on Lilith’s very being – her blood. Like a reverberating memory that had yet to fade. It unnerved her, more than anything, but she could not quite bring herself to drop it altogether.

 

Whatever her feelings on the subject were, Lilith forcibly pushed them aside in her mind to turn her attention to the door – and the vampire on the other side of it.

 

In a couple of long strides, she was across the room, leaning against the wall with her ear pressed to the concrete. Lilith placed her hands either side of her face and closed her eyes; tuning all superfluous stimuli out and listening only to him. First she heard his breathing, then his voice.

 

“You’re not supposed to be up here.”

 

Lilith’s eyes flew open and for half a second she thought he was talking to her.

 

“Neither are you.” That was the female vampire – Seras – Lilith remembered the name from her briefing. She was further away, down the corridor.

 

Lilith closed her eyes again.

 

“ _I_ don’t have direct orders from Integra to be down in the archives.” The seal shivered fractionally then.

 

“No, but you do have orders to stay away from _her_.” Lilith heard Seras’ feet shuffle on the floor.

 

“Get back to your paperwork, Police Girl.” He sounded irritated even though a soft chuckle echoed in the back of his throat. Eavesdropping was always more difficult when the targets were out of sight.

 

Then she felt his fingers back away from the seal and it seemed once again an impenetrable barrier between Lilith and the outside world.

 

“Unless you want to tell me what it is, exactly, that Integra has you looking for?” Lilith pressed her ear closer against the wall – as though that would actually make a difference to her hearing. “It can’t be anything to do with the crossbow, since we’ve riddled that out ourselves, and you won’t find much on vampire-keeping-cardinals down there, I daresay… so what _is_ it?”

 

There was a long pause; either Seras was refusing to tell him anything outright, or she was debating telling him.

 

The silence stretched on until Seras sighed and ended it. “You know you won’t be able to get in there, no matter what you do?”

 

“Ah, yes, the subtle art of drastically changing the subject; congratulations, you truly are a master… and for your information, I can get in there whenever I want-”

 

Lilith opened her eyes again and watched the unmoving, brassy door-handle intently.

 

“-I just wanted it to be easier, that’s all.”

 

There was another round of dead quiet; no one spoke or, as far as Lilith could hear, moved. She coiled away from the door in anticipation. Still, she stared at the handle; glinting in the fluorescent lights.

 

Lilith blinked once, and he was there. A figure dressed all in red – minus the hat.

 

No matter how many times her eyes flicked between him and the only exit, the door remained stalwartly closed. That is, until his white-gloved fingers closed around it and wrenched it open; jaws grinning at Seras’ shocked expression as it was revealed on the other side.

 

“See?” He sounded altogether too pleased with himself.

 

The idea then occurred to Lilith that she had an opportunity here. An opportunity for a little payback.

 

Before either of the other two vampires could say anything or act, Lilith sprang at the vampire in her cell; her jagged black claws extended. They fell together onto the mercilessly hard floor – Lilith pinning him down with her whole body. He was not even trying to stop her. Her claws buried deep in his throat and Lilith could feel a gurgling satisfaction in her chest as his blood oozed warm and sticky over her fingers.

 

“Master!” The high-pitched cry from the door didn’t bother her at all – Seras could not get through the barrier. “Stop it! Get away from him!”

 

Something in Lilith urged her to twist her claws and drag them to the side – essentially decapitating the vampire beneath her. It was a voice, not her own and yet a part of her, pushing her to act on her most violent desires. Muscle and sinew snapped around her claws, though she knew it would not kill him. She would have been surprised to hear it hurt him.

 

Then she blinked again and felt something like the crest of a wave breaking over her skin; like she had somehow been here before. Like _they_ had been here before. Amidst the mass of glossy black hair sprawled across the floor before her, Lilith thought for a moment that she saw a woman’s face, not his. Someone she knew – had known – but could not place.

 

Her eyes came back into focus and she saw once again the wide grin of the man whose face was spattered with his own blood. Lilith pulled her claws together just to hear his breathing hitch in his throat. Then, he laughed.

 

It was an unexpected, incongruous and wet sound – choking against the spill of blood. Whether she could have anticipated that more or less than what he said next, however, Lilith was not certain.

 

“This… is the most fun I’ve had in hours Seras – don’t spoil it.”

 

At that moment, his dark red eyes came to rest on Lilith.

 

Her face hovered barely two inches from his, snarling and blood-speckled. He was gazing at Lilith with that smug smirk still on his face; this was some kind of game to him, apparently.

 

“What, exactly, are you going to do to me, my dear?” His low voice beckoned her as much as the sweet fragrance of death that surrounded him did. She hardly even registered the throwaway term of endearment he had used towards her.

 

Lilith narrowed her eyes. “I have not yet decided,” she growled, shifting her claws slightly in his flesh.

 

“Decided?” He frowned. “But what do your _orders_ tell you to do?”

 

All the muscles in Lilith’s face suddenly relaxed and her fingers loosened.

 

She had orders – strict orders. Her master had commanded her to perform only that which she was ordered to do, this was not a part of his plan. _Then again_ , her traitorous mind cooed, _neither was getting captured by the enemy_.

 

Almost without her telling them to, her claws slid out of the black-haired vampire’s neck and retracted back into her fingertips. The mention of her orders had stunned Lilith back to her original behaviour. She was meant to be calm but lethal, not passionate or angry. Lilith pushed herself off of him – hands still held in front of her as though she had forgotten she could let them rest at her sides.

 

The male vampire’s body hissed and pulled itself into a more orderly state in a myriad of dancing shadows. With blood still clinging to his hair and skin, he propped himself up on his elbows to keep Lilith in view.

 

He watched as she stared at his blood on her hand. The bright crimson liquid had run in rivers over her forearms; in places making her look like a cracked eggshell. It was only when that voice in her head returned – _lick it_ – that Lilith realised she had brought her right hand almost to her lips.

 

She quickly flicked her hand out to the side; sending a spray of blood into the plain grey wall. Out of the corner of her eye, Lilith could have sworn she saw the other vampire’s shoulders sag slightly.

 

“I was not ordered to do anything to you,” she said at last, eyes flicking up to look at him where he now stood a short distance from her. “I was ordered to hunt the fugitives.”

 

Lilith heard her own mechanic answer and winced. _The Cardinal would have preferred it to be more natural; stronger_.

 

“So why did you attack him?” Seras queried accusatorily from the door. Lilith could feel her leaning as far as she could against the wall created by the seal.

 

“Because…” Her mind seemed to shake then – she did not know how to answer these questions. How to answer for her actions.

 

For years, Lilith had known nothing but what the Cardinal told her. Her world was the cell in which he kept her, and her purpose was whatever he wished it to be.

 

_Why did you attack him?_

 

She could not give the answer that bubbled up her throat and threatened to burst from her lips whether she willed it or not. The dark-haired vampire watched her with a look that verged disconcertingly close to anticipation – as though he could hear the words repeat in her head.

 

_Instinct_. _Memory_.

 

“He was the one who got me locked in here.” Again, he appeared disappointed. Lilith ignored him. “He was the one who interrupted my mission.”

 

“Your mi-” he took a step towards her, Lilith did not move. “Do you not remember me before that _at all_?”

 

“No.” Was he expecting a different answer? Lilith did not want to allow that there was one. “Should I?”

 

He looked as confused as Lilith felt. Both vampires stood within arms’ reach of each other, studiously watching for a hint of understanding to pass between them. Lilith was sure she had become desperate to understand what he meant; she could not fathom what it was he wanted of her.

 

They stood there in silence for a beat or two; staring. Even Seras was quiet. For a fleeting moment, Lilith thought she saw something in the male vampire’s face that reminded her of-

 

“I told _you_ not to come in here.”

 

Snatched from her thoughts, Lilith snapped her head round to look at the newcomer. In the doorway stood Integra, flanked by the freckled human who had set up the seal on Lilith’s cell.

 

“I was just seeing if I could jog her memory Integra, that’s all.” The vampire flashed his brilliant smile at the woman but it seemed to make no difference – Lilith found that she was not surprised by that in the least.

 

“Well maybe I could jog _yours_ to remember who. Is. In. charge. Here?”

 

The vampire swept down in an ostentatious bow – one hand narrowly missing clipping Lilith with his fingertips. She wondered if that had been intentional. Integra rolled her eyes.

 

“Get out here. _Now_.” The woman did not sound impressed.

 

He hesitated not a second longer.

 

Lilith blinked and was once again alone in the room; the other vampire was no longer with her. Instead, she could see his dark hair and red coat hovering just outside the door. The sweet smell, too, had moved with him. Lilith forced herself not to miss it.

 

She only had a second to see him there, however, before Integra slammed the door shut so hard Lilith believed the only thing unaffected was the seal.

 

This time, Lilith practically threw her body at the wall in an effort to hear what was being said on the other side of it. She once again closed her eyes and picked out the voices from the background static of all other noises in the building.

 

“I’ll admit I didn’t expect to return home to find _both_ of you disobeying me!”

 

“We’re sorry, Sir Hel-”

 

“ _You_ don’t speak for _him!_ ” Lilith flinched away from the wall as Integra bellowed; only re-settling her head to the concrete when she thought it safe to do so. “Let him make his own excuses – _you_ just get back down to the archives like I instructed you.”

 

“There’s nothing down there on… on what you want.”

 

“Oh, for God’s sake, will you just _tell me_ what it is?” He sounded beyond exasperated.

 

“No. Very well, Reeve, take Seras to the old vaults – see if there is anything there.”

 

Despite the occasional confused protest from Seras, Lilith heard two sets of footsteps recede down the hallway. Then it was just Integra and the male vampire left.

 

Lilith glanced at what was left of the puddle of his blood on the floor of her cell; it was quickly vaporising into the air in evanescent tendrils of smoke. Her eyes then went to her hands – the blood was almost gone from them, too.

 

“What were you thinking?” The sound of Integra’s voice brought Lilith back to the conversation outside her room.

 

“I was trying to get her to drink my blood.” Lilith’s eyes snapped open – wide. “So that she would remember-”

 

“What if there _is_ nothing for her to remember!? What if she _isn’t_ who you think she is? Then you would be giving an _enemy_ access to your powers!”

 

Lilith felt sick. _Remember? Power?_

_Instinct_.

 

The words jumbled together in her mind so quickly she soon could not distinguish one from another. Another wave of nausea swept up her throat from her stomach and she took a long breath to get rid of it. And another. And another.

 

_This is nothing new. This is familiar._

 

_This is nothing new. This is familiar._

 

“Look, just,” Integra sighed. Lilith was only just about aware she could hear the other woman speaking; thoughts still tumbling tangled in her mind. “Just do as I order you; nothing else. As and when _I_ am convinced that vampire is Mina Harker then we will discuss what happens next.”

 

_Who is Mina Harker?_ Lilith’s mouth felt dry now. They had been talking about her, she was sure of it, but then Integra used a name that was not hers. _Was it? No, no._

 

“If you didn’t have doubts, you would have had her killed by now.”

 

“Bring that up again and I’ll kill her myself regardless.”

 

There was a tense pause – tangible even from inside the cell. Lilith focused on their three heartbeats; hers and the other vampire’s slower ones and Integra’s comparatively much faster one.

 

“How was the meet?”

 

“Makube is the arse he always was,” Integra smirked, Lilith could hear it in her voice. “And they have no more than we do, apparently – not that I’m entirely convinced by _that_ mind you.”

 

“And what about _her?_ ” He sounded suddenly more concerned, more guarded.

 

“Iscariot wants her back – surprise, surprise.” Lilith was learning by now to recognise Integra’s sarcasm. She shifted her position against the wall.

 

“So she _was_ with them?”

 

“No doubt about it.”

 

Alucard scoffed; a cold sound devoid of true mirth. “What did _you_ say?”

 

“I told him to go fuck himself.” There was that smile in her voice again.

 

“We’re keeping her.” At last, the vampire sounded pleased. 

 

Integra’s response was considerably less content than his. “ _Yes,_ Alucard, we’re keeping her.”

 

In the quiet lull that followed the woman’s words, Lilith almost missed the vampire’s murmured “thank you.”

 

Integra certainly made no response to it, if she heard. Her strident footfalls soon resounded away down the corridor. The two vampires were then left with nothing but a wall between them.

 

Lilith had not realised when she had sunk down to the floor; her legs crumpled awkwardly beneath her. She quickly rearranged herself to sit with her back against the wall, the coldness deliciously reaching through her clothes, with her head tipped back. Every breath she took was deep and stuttering; her arid throat struggling to hold the sickness down.

 

In her head, all noise had quieted to one word:

 

_Alucard_.


	6. Stranger Than Fiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

[Hellsing HQ]

 

From the hallway where she left Alucard – more than aware of the lack of his footsteps shadowing hers – Integra stormed back upstairs. She needed to think – and plan.

If Makube really did know nothing regarding either the attack or Integra’s unexpected guest, then she would have her work cut out for her. There would be no point sending Alucard to the site of the attack on Iscariot, either, the trail there would have already gone cold. Her only other option seemed to be waiting for these people to raise their ugly heads again; a route which left a distinctly sour taste in Integra’s mouth.

 

She slid the door key out from her inside-jacket pocket and smoothly pushed it into the large lock. The key itself was about the length of her middle finger and had a satisfying weight to it. It was as old as the house and there was only one copy. The door went to her private study; where she kept the better brandy.

 

The sound of the bolts clicking in the mechanism as she turned the key was Integra’s favourite in the whole world.

 

After slipping inside the comforting boundary of the study, Integra closed the door behind herself and locked it – leaving the key in the lock. Then she went on a mission to find a drink.

 

The more the Director thought about it, the more hopeless the situation seemed. It was only her stubbornness that was stopping Integra giving up this whole charade. If not, then she would likely leave Iscariot to right its own house. As for Mina… or Lilith, or whoever she was, Integra could only hope that Seras would find something in the old vaults downstairs – if mould and decay hadn’t had the best of them already.

 

Without either flicking on a light or opening the curtains – the half-light filtering through being enough to illuminate her well-worn paths – Integra poured herself two fingers of brandy. The hand not holding the pleasingly voluptuous crystal glass snatched a cigar from the box sitting patiently by the decanter.

 

She cut the end and caught the cigar between her teeth – a flick of her thumb had the lighter ignited and set to it, causing wisps of curling grey smoke to reach up for the ceiling. Where the office one floor lower only smelled of cigars near the desk, the whole of the study was cloaked in the musk of tobacco. Always had been; Integra was only upholding tradition, as she saw it. This private room was also the smaller of the two; by no means cramped, but it didn’t need to be as imperialistically intimidating as the office in which Sir Hellsing received guests.

 

Lit cigar trapped between two fingers and brandy cradled in her other hand, Integra walked over to one of a pair of low-seated, high-backed armchairs. They were once deep burgundy… or perhaps purple, Integra had never really been able to tell. Her brandy was deposited on the glass-topped table between them and her cigar clenched back in her teeth so that she could release herself from her scabbard belt.

 

The whole thing came off with the ease of practice – and a multitude of curses when Integra caught her finger in the clasp. The Director then hooked the belt over the back of the chair she was to occupy; sword in scabbard left to hang down the back.

 

She slumped into the chair and seized back her drink – quaffing it in one exultant gulp. Without distraction, the Director’s wayward thoughts then drifted back to the vampire incarcerated downstairs.

 

On the one hand, she knew it could not be Mina; Mina was already married to Jonathan by the time Alucard went anywhere near her, it seemed safe enough to assume that meant she was not a virgin, so she could not have turned into a vampire. A nagging voice in her head reminded Integra that Mina had not turned into a ghoul either, and Alucard _did_ bite her. What then? It did not add up. On top of that; why would Alucard say it was Mina if it was not? Surely he would recognise her. Integra hated not being able to make sense of something – particularly where vampires were concerned. _One way or another, Van Helsing must have lied about something in that infernal book of his_.

 

Her gaze then came across from the hand holding the now empty brandy glass to the one with the cigar. Before she could move it back to her mouth, however, Integra’s eye caught the glint of something metallic in the other chair.

 

Now she did have to flick on the light.

 

The blue and green tiled table lamp soon bathed Integra’s corner of the room with a soft yellow glow. Which was more than enough to see the white and silver crossbow sitting in the other chair.

 

 _Alucard_.

 

He was the only one who could have gotten through a locked door – as evidenced by the clever little trick he pulled with the seal downstairs. _I’m going to have to watch that._

 

Integra also made a mental note to have another discussion with him about personal boundaries – for all the good it would do.

 

For now, however, she only tutted and rolled the stem of her brandy glass between her thumb and forefinger. A last, honey-coloured dreg dribbled down the smooth, round glass. With an irritated huff, Integra pushed herself out of the armchair and reached for the chord by the curtains that would summon Lucas with tea.

 

Within seconds of Integra tugging the tasselled chord, there was a hesitant _tap, tap_ at the door. She responded by frowning and uttering a disbelieving “huh.”

 

Nonetheless, when the Director unlocked the door, there was her ever-eager butler with a tray of steaming Darjeeling. It took less than a second for Integra to reach her conclusion.

 

“Reeve? Have you been standing out there holding that this whole time?” She stepped aside and granted him, or more pertinently the tea, entrance.

 

“No,” he answered simply, laying out the cup and saucer. “I had to go and make it first.”

 

“How did you know I wanted it?”

 

He almost shrugged – Integra saw his shoulders twitch. Lucky for him, Lucas thought better of it. “What kind of a therapist would I be if I couldn’t tell when someone with whom I’ve been in close quarters needed a good brew?” He straightened and smiled at her – tea perfectly prepared on the table behind him.

 

Integra pretended not to notice that Lucas had sneaked away her brandy glass – presumably for washing. For an ex-therapist the man certainly did take his new duties as a butler seriously.

 

She moved gracefully back to her chair and eased back into it; curling her fingers over the ends of the armrests. With her half-smoked cigar, Integra gestured at the crossbow.

 

“I assume Alucard brought that here?” She took a long drag and blew a cloud of smoke away from her butler.

 

“Yes, Sir.” Integra could see him trying to look around for other brandy glasses in need of a scrub. She certainly wouldn’t be the one to swear there weren’t any.

 

“Seras finished with it, I presume?” It was not so much a real question as an open-ended statement.

 

“Indeed.” Lucas leaned forward to take up the teapot; only at Integra’s nod did he pour into the china cup. “Would you like her final report? She relayed it briefly to me before we left for Greenwich.” His dark eyebrows raised as he passed the cup and saucer to Integra.

 

“I thought I had.” The Director blew the steam off the top of the drink and took a burning sip. The effect of her action was noticeable when only half of her gasses fogged up with steam.

 

“Not all, Sir.”

 

Integra made an elegant gesture with one hand – waving him to continue.

 

“On the crossbow itself, she uncovered nothing beyond her initial findings; automatically self-reloading crossbow, a tad archaic but very effective.”

 

“So long as you can hold it and aim it, that is.” Integra added with a grin, blowing out another cloud of smoke.

 

“Quite. The bolts, however, are the _really_ interesting part.” Lucas reached over and took out one of the lengths of iron from the crossbow’s mechanism, holding it up so Integra could see it. “Iron instead of silver because the silver would bend as soon as it hit anything – but look at the tip of it. The point of each bolt is made of a thin cap of silver, hiding the bolt’s hollow compartment.”

 

“The bolts are _hollow?_ ” Even Sir Hellsing could not keep the surprise – perhaps nearer incredulity – out of her voice. Lucas dared a knowing grin at her, creasing his skin to wrinkles at the edge of his eyes.

 

“Inside each one is holy water.”

 

A look of understanding crossed Integra’s features; she was almost impressed at Iscariot’s rare ingenuity.

 

“So the cap breaks on impact, allowing the holy water to be released _inside_ the target.” She gently took the bolt from Lucas, inspecting it from every angle. “That would hurt.”

 

“Yes, it would.”

 

Integra set the metal shaft down on the glass top of her side table with a quiet _clink_. She took a quick sip of her tea before returning the cup to its saucer on the tea tray. Wedging the rest of her cigar between her teeth, Integra reached for the crossbow itself with both hands.

 

The weapon was certainly crafted with a vampire in mind as there was absolutely no consideration for weight. The thing was a ton if it was an ounce.  Integra found her slight admiration for Iscariot craftsmanship waning rapidly. After a moment of considering the object and attempting to aim it at the unflinching Lucas and various objects in her study, Integra shook her head and propped it up against the foot of her armchair.

 

“We need to know more about what Iscariot think they’re up to with this… keeping a vampire.” She tapped her fingers loosely against the butt of the crossbow, simultaneously removing the cigar from her mouth with a large puff.

 

“They aren’t exactly forthcoming in that regard though, are they?” Lucas attempted a wry grin – it faded faster than it appeared. His statement was too frustratingly accurate to be amusing in the slightest.

 

“No, Reeve.” The cigar returned briefly to her lips. “What we need is someone willing to talk… someone on our side.”

 

Smoke rings coiled around each other in the air above Integra. She had an idea – and the disturbed look on her butler’s face screamed that he didn’t want to know what it was. With a smug grin, Integra leaned to the side and disinterestedly pressed the cigar stump down into her ashtray, a final line of smoke twisting up from its remains.

 

“What we _need_ is an inside woman.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Go get Seras and find a way to position her in Iscariot – I don’t care how, and _stop_ giving me that look!” She was almost ready to leap from the chair and shake him by the collar. “I need information on their doings and I need it _now_. And while you’re at it, call _all_ our international contacts for anything they have on the attack on Iscariot – see if whoever launched this assault is a threat to us.” She wasn’t having his arguments today.

 

“What about the hunt for Mina Harker?” He asked calmly.

 

Integra audibly tutted, good eye rolling in its socket. “Alucard can do it, since he’s the one so wound-up about it.” If it wasn’t for the fact that she wanted the work done before Christmas, it’s what she would have done in the first place – now Integra figured she would have to make do. Knowing what Iscariot was playing at took precedence.

 

The butler was just giving his customary short bow before leaving when there was a nervous, rapid-fire, much-louder-than-strictly-necessary, knock at the door. He looked up enough to give Integra a questioning look – she, in turn, nodded her assent.

 

Lucas span on his heel and quarter-turned the door handle anti-clockwise until in clicked. The oak door swung easily open to reveal a very dusty Seras; Integra could have sworn she saw a cobweb in the vampire’s blonde hair. The thought even occurred to her that she could probably find the exact path Seras had taken just by following the grey soot path down the hall. Lucas looked less than pleased at the mess coming off of Seras’ clothes in ashy flakes, but said nothing.

 

Clutched in Seras’ equally mucky fists was a bundle of crumpled, dull-yellow papers that made a soft crunching noise every time the vampire moved her hands. Integra assumed that meant she had found something.

 

“I think this is what you are looking for, Sir.” Seras thrust out the papers into the room, not yet daring to set foot over the threshold. Her seemingly unending supply of mess was considerably less reserved; settling on the thick carpet.

 

“It had better be.” She abandoned her tea on the side table and marched the short distance to take the vampire’s offering. “Or else Reeve might well use your head as a duster.”

 

Even as she turned her attention away from Seras, Integra saw the movement of the blonde vampire leaning away from the butler; whose lips were pulled in a very thin line since having looked down the now-grimy hallway.

 

What Integra now held in her hands were little more than sheaves of partially-burnt paper tied together with string. Letters mostly. From a quick glance, they seemed to be from various friends of Van Helsing’s to him about his many research projects – both to do with the arcane and the scientific.

 

“That didn’t take you long.” Lucas’ voice seemed distant even at only two feet away.

 

“There wasn’t much to look through,” Seras whispered. “Everything down there had been torched, looked like… it’s a wonder I found anything.”

 

The rest of the papers were notations of some kind – perhaps an experiment? Whatever it was, it was indecipherable; just hasty ink scratches and blots with the odd word here and there. Integra felt frustration brewing in her chest like a flame. If this was all they had, then there was a good chance she would never know the truth of Mina Harker and be unable to set this whole damn fiasco to bed once and for all.

 

Underneath the letters and loose notepapers, however, was a parcel. A stiff, brown envelope, bent out no more than a thumbs-width and covering the area of Integra’s palm. _A notebook_. Integra slammed the other papers against Lucas’ chest for him to take and began to pry open the parcel.

 

As expected, inside the envelope was a slender, leather-bound notebook. Externally, there was nothing to note of it except a couple of chemical stains. Integra flicked it open with one thumb, nose wrinkling at the aged smell released from its crumpled pages.

 

Integra’s blue eye widened instantly before she carefully and quickly shut the book – holding it guardedly in both hands.

 

“Leave me.”

 

Lucas and Seras shared a confused – and somewhat concerned – look, but offered no argument to the Director’s order. The young butler led the way, silently handing Integra back the papers with a meaningful nod in reference to their earlier conversation. As he nudged past Seras into the corridor, Lucas was unable to help a bemoaning glance at the ash-covered floor. Seras seemed suitably apologetic.

 

Within moments, they were both gone and the study door was firmly shut.

 

As the catch fell loudly back into place, Integra sped to the door. With the key still sticking out from the lock, it was nothing for her to re-lock the door and assure that no one would come barging in. Well, no one but Schrödinger’s vampire; who was currently too preoccupied with sulking around the holding cells downstairs.

 

Integra deposited most of the wrinkled papers in her hand on a nearby shelf so that all she was left holding was the notebook. Once again, she flipped open the front cover. This time, however, she allowed the small iron key labelled “Study Cabinet” to fall out into her hand.

 

She knew exactly what the key unlocked: the panel hidden behind the books on the bottom shelf of the far-right bookcase. Integra had found it when she took over Hellsing – even Alucard didn’t know what was in it. Over the years she had opted to ignore it, tucked away in the corner of the study; the only lock in the whole mansion for which she had never had the key.

 

The Director went there now, ignoring her joints cracking as she knelt down in the corner behind the armchairs. Next, Integra pulled out the large, unopened, volumes blocking her way and laid them on the floor beside her feet. Now, if she bent down, the small lock could just about be seen almost touching the shelf above – the seam of the wood panel it unlocked practically invisible from the surrounding bookcase.

 

A small prayer ghosted over Integra’s lips as she slid the key into the lock and turned. It was stiff after years of disuse, but, thankfully, it gave.

 

The panel popped open from the top; springing down like a wall-mounted ironing-board and ushering forth an invisible cloud of a musky, undisturbed-air smell. Integra coughed and waved her hand about in front of her nose to dispel the odour before leaning in again to try and see what was there.

 

Dark. Dark was what was there. Being this far from the lamp and behind a high-backed armchair, Integra was hardly surprised, though that did little to quell her frustration.

 

In lieu of being able to see anything, Integra reached in and tried to feel for what was in there. Her fingers instantly wrapped around something cool and cylindrical – and knocked against several more. She spent the next minute taking them all – eleven in total – out.

 

No matter how her fingers scrabbled around the shadowy space, the cylinders seemed to be all that occupied it. Gathering them to her chest – not yet worried about re-closing the panel – Integra made her way back to her armchair, grabbing the papers again on her way past.

 

Integra set the cylinders next to her rapidly-cooling tea and went back to the weathered volume in which she had found the key, deeply hoping for an answer of some kind. All this was starting to feel like a wild goose chase. On the first page of the journal was written a date in meticulous handwriting – 1893. Although four years before Abraham Van Helsing – pseudonym _Bram Stoker_ – published the fictive work that was intended for use as a vampire hunter’s how-to manual, 1893 was the year the actual events happened. What of them that were true, that is; Integra was more than aware of her grandfather’s creative licence concerning the story and its characters. With a dull, yet steadily awakening, feeling of trepidation, Integra flipped to the next page.

 

Before she had a chance to read what was written on the delicate pages a folded piece of paper slipped out and landed on the floor, sliding under Integra’s chair. The woman tutted irritably as she reached down to snatch the note off the floor.

 

Aside from the fact that the paper was of a heavier grade to that contained in the journal, the first thing Integra noticed about the note was the date: _4 th April 1939_. It seemed strange to her that something written so much later should end up in a journal dated 1893. Integra hoped and assumed that the answer to that would be made clear – to a greater or lesser degree – by reading the note.

 

_Arthur_

_This letter will have found its way into your hands upon my death – I am sorry it had to be this way but I wanted to wait until you were older before telling you the whole truth. It seems that is now no longer an option._

_I would begin by reminding you of the first, and last, time you asked me about Dracula. You wanted to know if there was truth in the book and how much. At the time I remember telling you it was all a work of fiction – this was a comforting lie to tell a child who was not ready to learn of the monsters in this world. I know you have always thought me a hard and distant father – more interested in my work than in my family. That is probably accurate but I hope that, by explanation, you will understand._

_The first confession I have, therefore, is that the book, Dracula, is largely true. The only elaborations I allowed myself were circumstantial details. I wrote it to spread awareness in the least offensive way I could: fiction. If I claimed it all as God’s honest truth, very few people would have believed me. Unfortunately, that seems to have occurred anyway – even the people of Whitby do not believe their mysteriously unmanned ship could possibly have been the work of some supernatural creature._

_The second confession is that one of those circumstantial details I changed was the ending. Dracula was not killed. May God have mercy on my soul, I enslaved him through unholy means – the details of which I shall_ never _recount – and have been using him to kill other vampires across the Empire. I hoped, one day, to kill the demon himself. It seems, however, he has outlived me and that burden is, I am afraid, yours to bear – he being bound to our bloodline. For that I find myself once again begging your forgiveness._

_Finally, I would have you read my journal from 1893. It details exactly what happened that fateful year in a punishingly faithful light – particularly regarding Mina Harker’s help in capturing Dracula. It is the only honest remnant of the Dracula affair._

_As for what happened to the others; Lord Godalming and Dr Seward both married fine women and elected to allow tragedy to slip into the dimmer folds of their memories. I certainly feel, in the end, this was best – even if I voiced a very different opinion at the time._

_Mina died as a result of my endeavours; the facts of which can be found in the vaults in a series of notes and some phonograph recordings I made of my interviews with her. I would greatly recommend you never listening to them as they showed almost no light on the condition of the vampire and did nothing to save her life. Jonathan disappeared without a trace before we had even laid the poor lady to her eternal rest._

_More than likely, my son, you are of the opinion that I should have told you and your brother more, and sooner. There is a very great chance that you are correct in this._

_Your father._

 

The moment she finished reading the deathbed confession, Integra sat there in stunned silence; even the air semmed stilled. Not only was the book ‘Dracula’ more doctored than she had first believed, but Abraham confessed that something he did to Mina resulted in her death – something that started with the events of 1893.

 

This only asked the question more loudly in her mind as she apprehensively re-opened the journal; _what the hell happened to Mina Harker?_


	7. Prisoner

[Hellsing HQ]

 

_This is nothing new. This is familiar._

 

_This is nothing new. This is familiar._

 

“What… what _is_ that?”

 

Lilith kept her eyes closed, her body slack in the chains suspending her just above the ground. They pulled her arms out at right-angles from their sockets and only allowed her toes to brush the damp stone floor. She could feel wet grit between her skin and the cold slabs; irritating her. A collar around her neck stopped her back and shoulders from taking all of her weight, but cut into the tender flesh of her throat.

 

_This is nothing new. This is familiar._

 

Two sets of footsteps approached from the sudden light of the open door; one heavy and familiar, one light and new. With them came the scent of fire and hot wax, incense and communion wine, death and life.

 

“Just because you took holy orders cannot possibly mean that you have never seen a _woman_ before.” The Cardinal – her master – chuckled. Even after all this time, something in Lilith hated the sound. “Well, she _was_ a woman. Now she is a monster, a _vampire_.”

 

“A… _what!?_ ”

 

“A vampire.” The Cardinal replied as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Lilith supposed it was, seeing as she was here.

 

“You’re keeping a _vampire_ in the _Vatican!?_ ”

 

 _Evidently_ , Lilith thought. In another life she might have said it out loud, might have laughed. She did not recognise this other voice, but it did not appear to belong to anyone of startling intelligence. That said, she did not dare move. She had been ordered not to move

 

“Yes. See, I knew you would not approve.” The vampire knew that tone; the one that pretended to be, almost casually, offended. It was a manipulation tactic.

 

Lilith heard The Cardinal stride over to her before she felt his fingers on her face. He reached through the mess of hair hanging over her features and pulled her head up to look him – the nails of his thumb and forefinger digging crescents into each side of her face. It was a common practice of his. Lilith kept her eyes closed.

 

_This is nothing new. This is familiar._

 

“I have been training her for over thirty years to obey my every command,” he crooned, turning the vampire’s head from one side to the other. “Impressive, would you not say, _Chief_ Makube?”

 

The name Makube sounded vaguely familiar to her, though not as familiar as _Cardinal_. Master. She assumed he must have been mentioned by her master at some point. Beyond that, Lilith could tell only one other thing – for the Cardinal to have brought him down to see her, he had to be important.

 

The Cardinal, still holding his vampire’s chin, stepped to one side and ushered the other man forward. Still, Lilith kept her eyes shut.

 

Makube cautiously took a step closer to Lilith – she could hear his hesitant footsteps – holding a candle out before him. The smell of hot wax came with it. The instant the soft, warm candlelight hit the vampire’s cheek, her devil’s-red eyes snapped open. The Archbishop started backward a step with a nearly inaudible yelp; Lilith glowered at him steadily. A small bubble of satisfaction rose in her chest to see Makube’s involuntary shiver – the movement sending a single boiling thread of wax running down the candle towards his vulnerable skin.

 

“This… this is _unholy_.” Makube’s words were followed by a sharp intake of breath as the candle’s heated tear finally pricked him. The wax dried in a matter of seconds; though that did nothing to calm the slight pinkishness that had developed under it.

 

“I take it, then, that you want no part of this?”

 

The Cardinal was still being calm – infuriatingly so, she imagined. Lilith could see his guest struggling to emulate such dispassion; a muscle in his scrawny face twitched, pulling at the scar running the length of his cheek.

 

“Why would I?” Makube passed the candle from one hand to the other – causing another hot river to spill onto his skin beside the cracked, dry one.

 

“Because she will be the key to our victory.” His smug voice enthusiastically filled the air around them. “Against _Hellsing_ , Chief.”

 

_Hellsing; Alucard._

 

The name broke into her thoughts unannounced. Lilith flinched away, the chains rattling with her sudden movements like an army pounding their iron-clad feet against her skull. She felt as though she might break under the surging thunder in her ears. That, however, was not what happened.

 

The world she saw started to crack and crumble; the walls split with an almighty sound as dust filled the air, the vampire’s lungs, everything. The two men acted as though nothing was happening, as though they intended to vanish into the unending darkness closing in around them. Lilith felt like she should have been screaming but no sound came; no attempt to fill what was left of the crumbling room with her keening wail.

 

The vision continued to swirl and warp around her, Lilith could no longer see her master or the archbishop named Makube. There was nothing but darkness and light dancing around her; encroaching. The cacophony of the chains continued to crash through her ears even though she could no longer feel them around her wrists; The smell of candlewax would not leave her even when the memory had ebbed away.

 

_This is nothing new._

_Alucard._

_Nothing new. Familiar._

 

“There must be something _else_ … something you have missed!”

 

Lilith became steadily conscious of a new world forming around her; a wooden table at her back, iron restraints over her wrists, ankles and neck. Though her eyes were open, Lilith could see nothing. She blinked once, twice, and again – nothing.

 

“I prohmise you, my friend, we are trying ahll we cahn.”

 

She could not find names for either of these voices, and yet she knew them – knew these men. Their desperation was marked on her very being. Somehow.

 

The smell of chemicals seeped into her nostrils as she lay there, practically comatose. CHCl3. H2SO4. AgNO3. Something else she could not identify. Acid and silver and burnt metal invaded her senses. Lilith moved her head back to get away from them – she only hit the wood behind her.

 

There was no escape.

 

_This is nothing new. This is familiar._

 

Only it was not familiar – yet it was. She knew these voices, this apparition, and did not know them. Wherever she was, it was somewhere she had been before. Like Lilith’s other vision, this was more a memory than a fancy of her mind.

 

Her skin tingled from the electricity humming through the air; crackling in her hair. Lilith recognised it as the after-effect of a concentrated electric shock. The Cardinal used it early-on in her training to encourage her toward the correct path. _His_ path. She thought, therefore, that there was a chance this was yet another memory of her training. Perhaps Lilith even hoped it was – then, at least, she would know.

 

“You are not _trying!_ ” – there, the first voice again; young, erratic – “She was your _friend_ – you supported her research! And now… now it’s going to kill her…”

 

This was not one of the Cardinal’s old training exercises – Lilith could tell that much now. For more than that, she would need her sight. If only she could find a way to restore her sight.

 

“Jonatan, please, _leesten_ to me-”

 

“ _NO!_ I am _done_ with this. You have killed her, Van Helsing!”

 

Lilith’s head twitched at the name. _Van Helsing_. She knew this man; the second voice, the older, delicately accented, elongating the vowels. Lilith knew she knew him. The vampire blinked again; her eyes closed tightly for a count of three then opened. It did her no good. She could feel tears – a thing she had not known in years – warming her eyes and dripping past her lashes down onto her skin.

 

“You said- you _said_ \- you. _PROMISED!_ That she would return to herself – to me – as soon as we killed the beast.”

 

 _But the beast is not de-ad_ , a voice in Lilith’s head sang.

 

“As soon as we killed the one who did _this_ to her, Van Helsing – you said she would be human again!” Though Lilith could not see him, she could hear his laboured breathing and stuttering, jumpy heartbeat. A whiff of blood stole its way to her over the chemicals.

 

 _Mmm – smells good, smells good, doesn’t it my dear?_ The voice in her head hummed. _We could kill them, kill them, you and I… or maybe just you – you, you, you kill them. Kill them. Set me free. Set_ us _free!_

 

Lilith began to shake; her whole body fighting her as she rejected the suggestions the voice whispered. Over and over again she murmured to herself; “no, no, no!” The two men – _the humans_ – did not notice her.

 

“I- I do not know what went wrong, Jonatan, I really do not-”

 

 _Liar, liar_ , it sang again – _he_ sang again. Lilith knew him now, more than she knew anyone else in the room.

 

“WE. SHOULD NOT. HAVE KILLED. _DRACULA!_ ”

 

_Dracula. Hellsing._

_Alucard._

 

Suddenly, all in the room was still. Even the faint ticking and dripping of various scientific artefacts seemed subdued. It was as if Lilith’s personal revelation had silenced the world. Nothing moved, no one spoke. Only soft lights, like will-o’-the-wisp, pricked at the corners of her vision.

 

She did not fully understand the things she heard – and was now, piece-by-piece, being allowed to see – but she knew there was more history of hers from before the Cardinal. There was more of _her_. As she began to focus on the instruments around her, however, Lilith still had no idea what to do with this information. _What do you do with the information that you existed before your birth?_

Then the stillness left – the two men were as yet unmoving, but the sing-song murmur of Dracula came back into her mind.

 

 _My dearest one, you have to kill them_ , “no,” _so that we can be together…_ _forever…_

 

“No. No, no, _NO!_ ” Lilith screamed – a sound that burst through every scientific instrument, every piece of glass, every object; shattered.

 

Even as the electric lights over her head flared and burst in a scalding spray of sparks, Lilith continued to scream. The two men before her covered their bleeding ears from the vociferous assault. Lilith, as she wailed, could feel the strength flowing out of her – like she was using the last of her life to keep up the noise that drowned out the voice. Drowned out the monster in her.

 

As her dying scream faded at last, Lilith felt the jolting, sickening, lurching sensation of falling backwards. Spinning through darkness and the sounds of distant torture rushing past her, she fell.

 

It was, however, the work of a moment and Lilith came-to on her hands and knees, gasping for breath. Under her hands was the familiar concrete floor of her cell under the Hellsing mansion. Around her cell was the ward that sealed her in; nothing had changed, though her mind stumbled over the thought of it.

 

_Th-this is nothing new. N-nothing new. This is… this… is… f…_

_F-f-familiar._

 

It had been a while since Lilith had had a nightmare – much less one that actually unnerved her. She heaved and gulped down air as much as she could. Though Lilith was steady now, she could still feel the rush of air around her. The vampire lowered her body – curling over her knees and pressing her forehead to the cold ground.

 

“Alucard,” she breathed against the floor – stirring up a puff of pale dust as she did so.

 

No answer came, but Lilith knew he could hear her; he was always just beyond her cell door – though he never went inside. There was only a whisper of movement from without her room.

 

Lilith pushed herself off the floor and leant back on her knees. She needed to know more; needed to know if her nightmare was true. That, or if something in her had finally broken. She slowly turned to regard the door, and think of the creature on the other side of it. Lilith would have her answers, and either Alucard could tell her, or Integra.

 

* * *

 

[Rome]

 

The rays of the red-orange setting sun fractured through the pinkish clouds and a cold blast tugged at Seras’ coat. Well, it wasn’t _Seras’_ coat; it was Erica Walsh’s. Seras was just the one wearing it. Either way, the vampire pulled it tighter around her shoulders. _Even after all this time, Police Girl,_ she imagined Alucard saying, _you still can’t give up on acting human_. Although now it looked like her fixation with remaining as human as possible was going to come in very useful.

 

With every fourth step she took, Seras breathed; _in… one-two-three out… one-two-three_. It was the only thing keeping her going.

 

Seras had no wish to go anywhere near the Vatican – much less Section XIII. Arguing with Lucas had gotten her nowhere, however; once Integra had given an order that was all there was to it. Unfortunately for poor Miss Walsh.

 

Erica Mary Walsh, born May 19th 2011 to Benjamin and Carla Walsh, weighed 6lb 1oz. Christened catholic and raised in such a manner, chose her vocation on leaving highschool aged eighteen. Height, 5ft 3in; weight, 11st 8lb. Her favourite colour is purple.

 

Lucas hadn’t seen the need for all of that information, just the bare bones of it. Then again, as Seras had said at the time, he wasn’t the one being sent over the top. Both the butler and Pip – in the back of the vampire’s mind – had thought that language a touch dramatic for what she was actually trying to accomplish. Seras still wasn’t sure her loyalty to Integra ought to stretch this far.

 

The most important thing about Erica was her eagerness to join the Iscariot discipleship program. Other than that, only one person in the whole of Iscariot had actually met the real Erica Walsh and Seras was highly unlikely to run into her as she only dealt with Iscariot’s intake, not the people who were already there.

 

_“Erica has already been accepted as a novice, there is nothing to worry about.” Lucas said as he straightened the jacket on Seras’ shoulders. She still wasn’t used to this new height._

_“What if I can’t keep all this,” – she gestured to her now unrecognisable face – “up?”_

_Lucas scoffed. “You are a vampire, this is natural to you, you will be fine. Really.”_

_“What if Erica turns up?”_

_“She won’t; I’ve swiped her memories and sent her off to a nunnery in France.”_

 

People wandered, trudged, and scampered past Seras in varying sizes of group; not a one of them realising who – or what – they were disregarding. The tourists were clearing out and the guards preparing to turn on the evening’s security systems. Seras took another look at her – Erica’s – letter.

 

The address it specified was a low building on the Viale Vaticano by the north-west wall of the Vatican itself. Seras could see it from here; she thought she could, anyway. Focusing a lot of her vampiric powers on maintaining the appearance of Erica Walsh did not allow much left for her third eye. Lucas had assured her it would get easier, but Seras was not so sure.

 

_“I don’t like it.” Seras looked in the mirror at the face of the young woman she was to impersonate. “I don’t look like me.”_

_“That is rather than idea, Seras.” Lucas didn’t even look at her – more interested in plaiting the metre-long blonde hair that now fell off the vampire’s shoulders. “At least she had the same hair colour as you – and accent, while we’re on the subject. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to find an English novice? Most of them are Italian.”_

_Seras squinted and the brown-eyed, round-faced girl in the mirror squinted back._

_“This is a horrible idea,” she muttered._

 

The nearer she got to it, now, the clearer she could see this was the correct place; white-washed walls and a plain brown door with a crucifix hanging in the place of a house number. The religious symbol brought Seras back to one point in particular she had made about this being a very bad plan.

 

_“Isn’t the Vatican holy ground? Won’t that hurt me?” She was getting a little frantic on this detail._

_“The Vatican, yes, Section XIII, no,” Lucas said firmly. “They have projects going on that would be seriously upset by taking place on such ground – which is only to_ our _advantage.”_

_“Well, what about Pip?”_

_“What about him?”_

_“The last time Makube and I crossed paths, he knew Pip was there – looked straight at him, I swear!”_

_“Calm down, I have a remedy for that.” He deftly reached into his pocket and pulled out a chunky rosary that smelled of lilies, sandalwood and smoke._

_“What is that?”_

_“It is a very strong incense that will unbalance Makube’s supernatural senses – so long as the rosary does not come in contact with your bare skin, he will not know you are anything but what you say you are. Trust me.”_

 

Seras patted the rosary under her coat before reaching up to knock on the door. Within moments, a thus far unseen flap pulled back into the lit room behind the door and the thin eyes and scarred nose of a doorman came into view.

 

“Sumus justus,” he growled.

 

Seras forced herself not to hesitate before uttering the answer phrase: “impii morientur gladio.”

 

His response was a quickly muttered "amen."

 

She saw the slight bob of his eyes as he nodded; a crop of thinning black hair coming momentarily into view. The locks and bolts on the door – far more than Seras thought possible on such a small piece of wood – slid out of place. The door swung inward and Seras was granted entrance from the cold into the warmth of the house. The scraggly guard slammed and locked the only entrance behind her.

 

Inside, Seras could see the other novices, excitedly muttering and whispering among themselves – the vampire caught the odd word. Most of them smiled at her – one even waved. To say that the gaggle of young men and women gathered here were the opposite of what Seras expected for protégé Iscariot agents was a colossal understatement. _At least my disguise holds up_. Seras edged her way around to them and stood by the spitting, crackling fire.

 

No sooner was she there than a trapdoor flew open mere inches from where one of the novices had been standing. Out of it came two figures; a tall, grisly-looking man with a gun strapped to his back, and a shorter, blonde woman with a clipboard and stitching scars on her face. Seras felt the prick of hairs on the back of her neck stirring.

 

“Vee s’all do zis al’habetically – stand vorward vhen I call your name.” She raised her clipboard.

 

Seras gulped and waited patiently for the others’ names to be called first – largely not listening to them, or the woman who called them. Up until now, though she did not much like the plan of being sent into Iscariot undercover, it had all been fairly theoretical. Theoretically, she knew this situation had to occur. Theoretically, she could handle it. In reality, she was praying for the ground to swallow her – anything for this not to be happening. Her hour, however, came at last.

 

“Ewrica Valsh.”

 

Seras stepped forward as the others had done – if a little more hesitantly – with her head bowed slightly and her eyes averted. When she reached the blonde and her clipboard, Seras looked up into a pair mottled-green eyes.

 

“I am Heinkel Volfe; velcome to your Iscariot training.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The translations for the two parts of the passphrase are "we are the righteous" "the wicked shall die by our swords" - just in case you wanted to know.
> 
> Anyway, now we're in for some fun; "Lilith" starting to get her memories back, Seras in Iscariot as a spy... who knows what could happen next??


	8. Enemy Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go, into the belly of the beast - have fun!

[The Vatican: Section XIII]

 

A lukewarm bowl of something not quite impressive enough to be called gruel marked the dawning of Seras’ second full day at Iscariot. Well, not for Seras personally, she had declared herself on a ritual fast. Heinkel hadn’t been best pleased about the fact – said it would weaken ‘Erica’ but she had relented with less antagonism than expected. The catholic wasn’t to know that it was eating the food Iscariot offered – human food – would have been what weakened this particular recruit. Nevertheless, Seras was obliged to sit at the table while the others ate; Heinkel very much subscribing to the opinion that without temptation there could be no victory.

 

Heinkel also wasn’t to know that even if she was human, Seras probably wouldn’t be tempted to eat it. The look of it alone was enough to turn her stomach; not to mention that it smelled of over-watered oats and faintest whisper of burnt rubber. Yet somehow, as soon as grace was said, the young initiates around her had practically inhaled the stuff. On the first day, Seras had stared openly at the spectacle, now she only peeped at them while pretending to study the table.

 

 _Zis eez probably all zey know_ , Pip’s voice echoed around in her head, _maybe zis slop eez better zan zat, even, eh?_

 

 _Be quiet._ Seras thought back; then added urgently. _Please._

 

She could do without having to hide the fact that she was talking to someone in her head. The less peculiarities, the better. Pip grumbled but, thankfully, did as he was asked. Seras could count on one finger the number times that had happened.

 

Now once again on her own in her mind, Seras was able to have some space to think on her mission. She hadn’t been able to get far as yet, unsurprisingly; she was having a tough enough time remembering the other novices’ names. A part of her – Seras wasn’t sure how big a part – wanted to know nothing of them, nothing of these people she had been trained to loathe; who were being trained to make the feeling mutual, if it wasn’t already. They now leant over their bowls, chatting animatedly about their training yesterday. It looked eerily normal. Heinkel had started by throwing all of them together on a square of sand and told them to show her their best.

 

Seras had been darkly attracted to the idea of taking up that challenge.

 

In reality, however, the vampire had held back the vast majority of her strength; even allowing one or two of the others to get the better of her a couple of times. In the end, she had only emerged the victor by a hairsbreadth. It seemed better to Seras to appear as much a part of the group as she could – her pride being the only thing stopping her from surrendering her advantage completely.

 

It was difficult not to stand out in this place, really – not just in terms of the competition being human. Everything about the initiate quarters and training rooms was plain and nondescript; everything had a function. It looked more like an army bunker than an annex to a place of worship. That specific impression not being discredited by the fact that the entire complex was underground. There were still paintings of the saints, of Jesus, and of the Virgin Mary, up on the walls – mostly in communal areas – but they followed the pattern of the plainer parish icon rather than the grandiose artefacts of spectacular skill Seras had been anticipating. She felt that, in such an atmosphere, _someone_ had to notice she was a vampire, no matter how much of Lucas’ smoky-smelling mixture she stuffed into her rosary each morning.

 

The whole group had been assured that their lives would not always be so austere, but that it was important to learn their duty first and indulge their faith later. When Seras looked at Heinkel, she would have sworn those two things were the same.

 

Unsurprisingly, Seras also found herself missing home terribly. All the emphasis on duty was jarring against what she was used to at Hellsing. Yes, her obligations to Integra were foremost, but Seras had never felt that was her sole purpose – they had fun every once in a while. Here, she doubted the initiates had a deck of cards between them.

 

Seras slid a finger under her tight collar and attempted to shift the thin material over her skin to alleviate the stifling heat; all she succeeded in doing was allowing a bead of sweat to slip directly beneath her clothes. She didn’t even know before today that vampires could sweat. Everywhere in Iscariot’s underground headquarters seemed to run at a temperature much hotter than necessary.

 

Her thoughts, and the novices’ breakfasts, were stalled when Heinkel strode importantly up to the head of the table and stood behind the higher-backed chair there with her hand clasped behind her back. Without a word to quiet them, the initiates fell silent. Seras seriously envied that ability.

 

“Yesterday, I saw vhat you vere all nade of.”

 

Seras had picked up on the slight pronunciation problem Heinkel was having before; a reasonably well-covered slurring colouring her usual German accent. Anyone who didn’t know how she had sounded thirty-one years ago likely wouldn’t pick up on it. This time, even some of the others around the table focused their eyes on Heinkel’s lips when she couldn’t bring them together correctly for an ‘m’ sound. If the woman noticed, she gave no sign of giving two shits about it.

 

“Today, I vill start to nake you vhat you shall dee. Ze training shall consist of instruction in ze norning unt ‘ractical in ze afternoon.”

 

All while Heinkel was talking, Seras found her eyes drawn again and again to the scars on her face – mostly the marring on the right-hand side. The last time she had seen them, they were still preventing Heinkel from forming intelligible words at all; as Seras had often taunted during their fights. Now, it seemed, they had been patched up, or healed, or maybe weren’t that bad in the first place. Maybe Heinkel faked the after-effects of her injury to… no, no, that didn’t make sense at all.

 

It was only then, as Seras was frowning at the empty air in front of her nose in response to her private thoughts, that she realised Heinkel had stopped talking. This quickly followed by the nauseating awareness of everyone staring at her – including the dark-haired novice who happened to be sitting behind the empty air at which Seras had been staring for God only knows how long.

 

“Is zere… sont’ing wrong, Frau Valsh?” Heinkel said it with such condescending particularity – one hand on her hip and the other on the breakfast table – that the other initiates actually giggled. Seras would have been slightly relieved to learn that was allowed at the table if it wasn’t directed at her.

 

“N-no, Frau Wolfe.” Her eyes darted from Heinkel back down to the table as she willed the warmth blooming over her cheeks to subside; no matter how long she lived, Seras was certain she would never like being the centre of attention.

 

Heinkel, straightening up from the table, gave a displeased grunt in return.

 

“As I vas saying-”

 

“Scusate, agente.” In the small side-entrance to the hall – a simply-framed wooden doorway – stood a black-clad man with slicked, silvering hair and a curled moustache. It was the bronze-rope trim at his collar that identified him as one of the heralds – a fact Seras had learnt quickly on arriving at Iscariot.

 

The man gave a quick bow then looked back at Heinkel – who was getting more and more impatient by the minute.

 

“His Eminence, il Cardinale, requests your presence in-”

 

“Vhy?” Heinkel barked the question across the man’s words like a bullet.

 

The herald was off-put by her interruption at first, but soon recovered himself. “For your report,” he answered simply.

 

“Vhat retort?” Her tone was no less harsh.

 

“On…” There was a pause when his eyes flicked awkwardly around the room – predominantly at the novices, Seras noticed. “The, uh-”

 

“Ze _vhat_ , herald?” Heinkel spun around now to face him head-on. Seras couldn’t see, but she had a reasonable idea of the intensity of the glare Heinkel was giving him based on how he seemed to melt before her. That or he was succumbing to the intolerable heat the way Seras wished she could.

 

“The new recruits, agente.” The herald said it as though the words were tart on his tongue – all but Heinkel’s title, of course, which he said with the utmost reverence. Seras thought it sounded a touch forced.

 

Heinkel’s fists balled tightly at her sides – the more awake members of the breakfast table paying very close attention to them. Seras sat dead still. A sudden _whoosh_ of air flowed out of Heinkel’s mouth and her fingers loosened; as did the herald’s shoulders. She shoved a hand through her messy, straw-coloured hair and nodded – taking a single step in the herald’s direction.

 

“Cun on, zen, let’s see ze Cardinal, huh?” It was evident that was the last thing Heinkel wanted to be doing. The herald didn’t look best pleased either.

 

Nevertheless, he submissively trotted a few paces behind Heinkel – their feet resounding an incongruous rhythm on the hard floor. One or two of the novices took this as their cue to finish eating. Just as she reached the door, the steady stomping of Heinkel’s boots halted. She swivelled back around – soles squeaking on the tiles as she did – and threw one last command at her trainees.

 

“Ve shall neet in ze training area – go zere unt ‘ractice until I can join you.”

 

She said no more before vanishing through the door – allowing it to bang shut in the herald’s face behind her.

 

Fortunately for Seras – who had had more than enough of sitting in a room watching others eat – it wasn’t long before everyone was finished with breakfast and began piling out of the hall. Less fortunately, she had to prepare herself for another day of pretending to train. A voice in her head reminded her that Lucas had said this might go on for weeks – maybe even months. Seras had a sneaking suspicion the thought had been dredged up by a certain Frenchman she had told to zip it.

 

The corridor leading from the eating hall to the arena was much like all the others; cracked tiling paving the floors and metres upon metres of piping and cable masking the walls. Seras could here electricity fizzing down some and water gurgling through others. She gave her collar another gentle tug.

 

About three-quarters of the way down this particular tunnel of pipes, was a sharp drop down one of the steepest flight of stairs Seras had ever seen. The other novices virtually skipped down it – it was how they managed to haul themselves back up it at the end of the day that amazed Seras. The first time they had reached the stairs – early yesterday morning – Heinkel had told them that most novices died on these stairs before ever seeing a vampire.

 

It had taken all of Seras’ self-control not to flash a smug grin at that.

 

“I think she’s just dedicated, is all.” The high-pitched sound of one of Seras’ – _Erica’s_ – training-mates reverberated loudly back from the front of the crowd.

 

“ _Dedicated!?_ ” The equally-high response squawked back. “She’s a sadist! You saw her training methods yesterday!”

 

“Frau Wolfe was testing us – seeing what she needed to do to train us to perfection – God willing.”

 

If she stood on her tip-toes, Seras could at least see who was talking – a pair of girls, one gangly and red-headed, the other a beefy blonde. The vampire thought one of their names began with a ‘p’ or maybe a ‘b’? All she could recall was how Heinkel had struggled to pronounce it.

 

“She almost let that chubby freak kill you!” That was the blonde one speaking now, as she held open the hefty sound-proof door that barred the entrance to the training pit.

 

Seras was so busy trying to remember their names that she was totally unaware they were talking about her until they suddenly stopped. Rather, they were talking about Erica who, for being rounder than most of the other recruits, was also a damn-sight more muscular, Seras had discovered. She would have been an excellent addition to Iscariot’s ranks – if she had made it to Rome.

 

Some of the other novices gave her sheepish glances; not really sure if they should say anything, and not really sure if she had heard. Seras stared unwaveringly back at each of them.

 

“Agent Wolfe knows what she is doing.” The girl with dark hair Seras had accidently stared at earlier piped up from where she was tightening her shoelaces. The vampire couldn’t quite identify the gentle inflection that peppered her accent but it was pleasant all the same. “Anyone who complains about her methods is nothing more than garbage in my way.”

 

The girl pulled off her over-shirt to reveal the vest top they all wore for training and made her way to the arena itself – purposefully _thwacking_ against the blonde girl with her bony brown shoulder. Seras warily kept back. She might not know their names, but she could tell a troublemaker when she saw one; everyone else seemed to agree.

 

Soon they were all stripped down to loose shorts and sleeveless tops and bounding around the arena. Only Seras still had a high collar – the better to ensure the rosary she never took off didn’t touch her skin. Most of the others had similar religious adornments on during training, so it wasn’t so strange. Nearer the edges, a few people had clustered together around punch-bags; in the centre, a ring had formed around an ongoing wrestling match of distinctly questionable fairness – every-so-often another initiate would be pushed in to replace the fallen and challenge the victor. It was this jostling circle of sacrifice in which Seras then found herself.

 

Right at the front.

 

* * *

 

The ground seemed to fly under Heinkel’s feet as she stormed back down through the tangle net of corridors to her training room. She didn’t like leaving her novices on their own just yet, not at this early stage – a fact of which she was certain the Cardinal was aware. Not that that mattered when the fancy took him to interfere. Heinkel’s irritation at being summoned was such that she couldn’t even be bothered to tell Makube to leave as he tailed her all the way from the Cardinal’s office.

 

“What did he want?” The Archbishop was having to use the full length of his legs to keep up with her pace.

 

“To neddle, vhat else?” She took a sudden left-turn away from Makube – forcing him to skid to a halt and nearly jog to follow her.

 

“You know what I meant!” He huffed – more for being out of breath than annoyed.

 

The flat of Heinkel’s palm slapped against the training-room door; the hinges shuddered at the force. For a moment she stood still, one foot in the door, and allowed Makube to catch his breath. Not at all on purpose.

 

“He vanted a retort on ze novices.”

 

“Already?”

 

Heinkel only shrugged in response. She would never admit it, but it hurt to talk – the healing scars on her face ached when she used them too much. It was why she didn’t like bringing her lips together when she spoke. Heinkel’s cure for this had become either ignoring the other person or shrugging.

 

She left Makube standing there – an ugly frown creasing his brow – and slipped into the oven of a room behind her.

 

The training room was darker than most other areas of Iscariot – certainly darker than the offices four floors up. The only lights down here cast only a dull glow; adequate to see instruction and block attacks, but also dim enough to emulate the darkness in which they would be facing vampires. Behind her, Heinkel heard the training room door swing open again.

 

Heinkel padded quietly over to the area of greatest coagulation of students; the central part of the raised platform affectionately known as the arena. She could see a ring had been formed around a pair of novices. There was too much commotion for much to be visible, but Heinkel was tall enough to peer over most heads.

 

At the centre of the rowdy gathering were Maite – a skinny girl from Spain, more bone than anything – and Erica – the surprisingly agile British novice. Both of them were sweating and flushed dark crimson from their exertions. Heinkel nodded when she saw how they kept their fists up and did not break eye-contact. Though scrapping was hardly useful against most vampire attacks, the practice of wrestling would be good for keeping them fighting-fit.

 

Heinkel continued to circle the outskirts of the crowd – watching as Maite swung left and Erica dodged back. The move eliciting an “ _ooh_ ” from the eager crowd. Her eye was suddenly caught by Makube lingering at the very edge of where the soft ceiling light dropped-off into thick darkness. She could see there was no use for it and conceded to stand by her superior while watching the fight.

 

“You’re still here,” Heinkel observed emotionlessly.

 

“Thought I’d see these recruits – if they’re really so important that His Eminence required an immediate update, then they really must be something.”

 

Heinkel sniggered at his obvious, machete-like sarcasm; an uncomfortable, wet noise that sounded more like she was choking than finding amusement. Makube had long-since become accustomed to it.

 

Erica, light hair plastered over her dripping face and dark eyes blazing, took a sharp jab at her opponent with her right fist. The movement reminded Heinkel greatly of a scorpion strike. The hit landed true – catching Maite’s shoulder. The slighter girl tried to retaliate, but Erica was a step ahead and spun away from the harmless punch.

 

Makube gave a long whistle. “There is a clear leader of the pack, it seems.”

 

“Is _zat_ all it takes to intress you, Chief?” She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Vhen I vas learning, you had to drake a leg defore zey vould even look at you.”

 

“I’m not impressed,” he visibly bristled – Heinkel had to supress a twisted smirk. “I’m just saying that it’s rare for initiates to be that adept at close-quarter fighting after only a day. That shot should have hit her.”

 

As if to prove his point, Erica darted behind Maite and delivered two quick blows to her neck with the edge of her hand. Once Maite was bent down from that assault, Erica kicked the back of the smaller girl’s knees – dropping her down to the arena floor. Now they were both below the average head-height of their audience, it was harder to see exactly what happened but the sound of Maite’s enraged snarl vaulted over the cheers around her.

 

“It seems I’m not the only one who has noticed that girl’s ability.” Makube voice drifted serenely through the hubbub. “And they appear the exact opposite to impressed, Heinkel.”

 

Maite surged upward with her straining knuckles aimed directly for the underside of Erica’s chin. With a sharp grin from the attacker, the blow connected and Erica’s head snapped back. The victory was, however, short-lived.

 

Erica stumbled backward for a beat, then re-lit her energy. With a hand outstretched, she ran at Maite. Before the other girl could stop her, Erica had one of her hands completely covering her opponent’s face. The blonde’s other hand soon came around to rest almost gently at the back of Maite’s neck and, with one deft movement, pulled the dark-haired girl down onto the padded arena floor with a decisive _smack_. It was all over in a matter of seconds.

 

The reaction from the onlookers was delayed but inescapable; a great cheer rose up from the crowd with one voice as Erica rose panting and victorious. No one paid Maite – shakily pulling herself up – any mind at all.

 

 _Yes_ , Heinkel thought as she watched the other novices pound Erica amiably on the back, _I shall have to watch that one closely_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins Seras' journey into espionage.... mwahahaha!


	9. Restless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness but it's been a while - what can I say, a lot has happened to keep me from writing this! Just a short one this time, more of a plot point than anything. Enjoy!

[The Vatican: Section XIII]

 

If he was anywhere else, in the company of anyone else, Chief Makube would have been tapping his foot and sighing puffs of clean air loudly through the choking incense smoke for the last twenty minutes. Twice as long as that being the trudging duration of the meeting. Well, he generously titled it a meeting – in truth, it was more of a vociferous debate. Anywhere else, Makube would have called it an argument.

 

“I understand your kosition in terns of not antagonising Hellsing vizout cause, unt zat Iscariot going to ze UK vould de seen as an infraction,” – Makube had to hand it too Heinkel, her pronunciation was improving daily. Particularly, it seemed, when she was spitting feathers – “‘ut I do not understand vhy ve are not doing _anyzing_ vhile sonneone could have cat’tured _your_ agent!”

 

“Though I am glad to hear you finally referring to Lilith as an _agent_ , I did not realise it was a certainty that anyone _had_ taken her.”

 

The three of them – Makube, Heinkel and the Cardinal – all stood in the Cardinal’s incense-clouded office. The Chief safely positioned near the door for a hasty exit – having been inching nearer and nearer for almost half an hour; Heinkel almost ready to leap over the Cardinal’s desk; and the Cardinal calmly lighting more incense – what he could possibly need it for, Makube had no idea, they were already practically swimming in the stuff.

 

“If not taken zhen vhat?” not Heinkel took another defiant step forward. She was lucky The Cardinal hadn’t yet decided to have her hauled off for insubordination, in Makube’s opinion. It paid to be Iscariot’s trump card, apparently.

 

“Searching for the people after whom I _sent_ her, perhaps?” The Cardinal answered smoothly. He finished fiddling with his incense and pulled out his desk chair. “They were enough to outmanoeuvre _you_ , why not a vampire, too? We have no way to estimate how _long_ this will take her. Alternatively,” he continued without allowing either of the others to speak, lowering himself into his creaking chair, “they might just have killed her.”

 

“You don’t seem too concerned with that outcome,” Makube observed.

 

The Cardinal shrugged, that nauseatingly affable smile creasing his features as he did. “What will come to pass comes to pass – Lilith was only an _experiment_ , after all, Archbishop, not _family_.”

 

“Ze van’tire is re’tresenting Iscariot, ve have to find it unt get it dack defore anyvone finds out-”

 

“Even if they _torture_ her,” exasperation was rotting away The Cardinal’s glib attitude. “She does not know where she has been all this time. There is _nothing_ of her that will lead back to Iscariot – _trust me._ ”

 

Makube had never heard any two words so suspicious.

 

“We have larger concerns than the fate of one _vampire_ – with the current status of Agent Wolfe’s assailants unknown, we must assume the very worst.” He leant forward across his desk; pointedly making eye-contact with Heinkel. “The _Pope himself_ could be a target for all we know.”

 

Even though he couldn’t see her exact facial expression, Makube was certain Heinkel looked about ready to explode – or at least as annoyed as she had looked the last time he had told her _not_ to go rogue and kill half of the Convention of Twelve. It was a look he was more than used to at this point. Not that that made handling an enraged super-soldier any easier.

 

In this case, as with many, Heinkel took the problem out of his hands herself by turning to storm off out of the chambers. As she passed, Makube saw the dark fire in her eyes and felt a chord of pity for her novices – to whom she was undoubtedly going, more than likely with a mind to make them do drills until they bled. She had been spending a greater than usual amount of time with them, so they really should have grown accustomed to her methods by now.

 

That or Iscariot would need some new recruits pronto.

 

The door didn’t slam properly behind Heinkel as she left – the smoke-laced air trapped in The Cardinal’s office creating a cushion that took away the force with which she flinged it shut. In the end, the door simply dropped back against the frame. Makube unfurled his arms and reached across to pull it into the latch; while he abhorred how stifling the room was, he loathed eavesdroppers more.

 

“Cardinal, may I offer you some advice?” Makube hooked his hands behind his back and took a calculated stride forward.

 

The Cardinal’s brown eyes flicked up from the pages spread out on his desk. He raised his eyebrows with silent permission. After Heinkel’s outburst he was probably lucky to get that much. The Archbishop chanced another sly step towards the large man – one more, and the fronts of his legs would brush the smooth table top.

 

“Don’t push her.” Makube envisaged the frown growing on The Cardinal’s face a fraction of a second before it materialised. Though he generally didn’t like it when people got angry with him, in The Cardinal’s case, Makube felt somewhat relieved to see something other than a meaningless grin. “Heinkel’s faith, and her unerring desire to protect this church, are – rightly – stronger than her loyalty to mortal man; even you.” He paused. “I mean no disrespect, of course.” Makube finished off with a facetious half-bow.

 

“No more than usual.” The Cardinal’s voice cracked through the cloying air like a whip. His soft eyes seemed to have narrowed to black dots; his lips pursed similarly small. “I have held this position too long to allow myself to be lectured by subordinates.” – Makube felt his hackles rise at the term – “I daresay, if I did what _you_ wanted, I would tell Heinkel _exactly_ where Lilith is, _hm?_ ”

 

Makube was really starting to get annoyed with The Cardinal’s perceptiveness. Of course the Chief thought that the vampire should be found rather than left, potentially, in the hands of Iscariot’s enemies – it was practical. Regardless of what The Cardinal seemed to believe, there was always the chance he was wrong, that his freakish experiment knew about being in Iscariot and could have been, for all they knew, spilling her secrets to whoever had captured her. No, that wouldn’t do. The vampire should be tracked, by Heinkel, and killed. _Dead vampires tell no tales._

 

Given The Cardinal’s thunderous demeanour, however, Makube decided to keep all that to himself. “Your Eminence, I wouldn’t suggest-”

 

“Do you think me an _imbecile‽_ I, _too_ , will do what is necessary to safeguard The _Church!_ ” The Cardinal rose momentously from his chair. “What is necessary _right now_ is for Ms _Wolfe_ to do only as she is told _not_ go gallivanting after vampires!”

 

“Quite so,” said Makube deferentially. There was little doubt in his mind that The Cardinal could see straight through his sudden reverence, but Makube saw no reason to drop the façade while it still had the chance to be useful. “If I may, however, we are, as of now, in a tricky situation; _someone_ attacked Heinkel at the outpost – we still don’t know who – you sent the vampire to find them and she got captured by Hellsing. So not only does Hellsing have the proof that we – the _Vatican_ – have been harbouring a vampire, we _still_ don’t know who attacked Heinkel.” He was gesticulating each point with a sharp downward swipe of his hand. The incense was starting to get to him. “Did I leave anything out?”

 

“Being taken by Hellsing certainly was not a part of the original plan, I grant you.” The Cardinal looked as though those three words pained him greatly. It was also thinly-caged that he wanted nothing more than to remind Makube of his opinion that the vampire knew nothing of her own location for the past thirty years. “But there is no need to worry just yet. This apparent setback may prove profitable.”

 

The Cardinal chuckled to see Makube’s expression of confusion. While that rankled, Makube himself still couldn’t see the positive of all this. The Cardinal left no room for questioning, however; raising his right hand in a gentle request for silence. Not that the Archbishop had spoken. The next words that left The Cardinal’s mouth, his final dismissal, sent a single icy trickle down Makube’s spine.

 

“Do not underestimate Lilith; I have trained her well.”

 

* * *

 

[Hellsing HQ]

 

Integra jolted awake, surrounded by the murk of her larger office – to which she had moved from her study at about three in the morning after needing a change of venue. She blinked and rubbed the sticky, groggy feeling from her eyes with her thumb and index finger. As consciousness returned its stinging feeling to every joint, Integra noted that there was an irritating and familiar crick in her neck – _that’s what you get for sleeping in your desk chair_ – and a hammering sound pounding behind her skull.

 

_No, that’s the door._

 

She cleared her throat, glad that sleep was receding faster and faster with every passing second; whatever had happened it was urgent, judging by the insistent knocks. Integra was also glad that she had given her butler a set of emergency keys.

 

“Come in, Reeve,” she called, her voice raspy enough to make the woman cringe.

 

Nevertheless, the young butler ceased knocking. A series of heavy clicks and the sound of metal against metal against wood signalled the key rotating in the lock. Sure enough, the door was soon pushed open, spilling bright light from the corridor outside around the impeccably neat silhouette of Lucas Reeve.

 

As the man came in, closing the door behind him – for which his boss was tremendously grateful – Integra noticed the book lying open on her desk. Van Helsing’s 1893 field journal. The thing that had contained Van Helsing’s deathbed confession letter. The book’s meticulous scrawlings were what she had been reading last night before bed. Well, chair, as the case may be.

 

Integra had barely got a quarter of the way through the journal; so practically illegible was the handwriting and so detailed the account. She had come close to giving up a couple of times. Thought about giving it to someone with better eyesight than her a few times more. Yet each time, Integra had continued. Until she had fallen asleep in her chair, that is.

 

Thus far, Van Helsing had been conducting his private research in Amsterdam – some on purely medical science, some on the occult – when he received the telegram from John Seward asking for his help with Lucy Westenra. None of that seemed of particular note to Integra; simply embellishments on the facts of which she was already aware. Following that was a section on his journey to England – Integra had fallen asleep during his explicit documentation of a conversation with two people he met on the boat. Integra couldn’t now recall either of their names.

 

Whatever the journal did or did not contain, however, Integra quickly decided she didn’t want anyone else to see it just yet. Before the featureless shadow, that she knew to be Lucas, reached her through the gloomy half-light, Integra shut the book and surreptitiously slipped it under some papers.

 

Lucas, apparently, didn’t notice. He was too concerned with the folded paper he was now holding out for Integra to take. This close now, bathed in what light the desk lamp cast on his warm brown features, Lucas looked utterly perplexed; brows crumpled, lips drawn thin, eyes wide.

 

Integra took the proffered paper immediately.

 

It was coarse, reasonably heavy, cream-coloured paper – Integra wouldn’t have been surprised to hear it was handmade. There was a strange, waxy quality to it, however, more like vellum than paper. Folded in three panels like an old letter with no discerning feature marking the outside except for a bloody drop of wax. Pressed into the wax was a seal in the shape of a flaming torch clasped by some unseen figure’s hand. Integra had never seen anything like it. She slid the little finger of her right hand under the seal; pulling it off the lower fold of paper with a quiet _pop_.

 

“Where did this come from?” Integra asked as she flattened the letter out on her desk, already beginning to cast her eye over it.

 

“I found it on the doorstep when I went to get the milk this morning – I brought it straight to you.”

 

Integra took in his words though she made no acknowledgement whatsoever that she had heard him. Her attention was being commanded by the outlandish letter in front of her.

 

_Hellsing,_

_This is a note of goodwill – we have no quarrel with you as yet. It is also your first, and final, warning. Leave our operations alone; make no attempt to follow or find us, do not track this letter._

_Do that, and we shall not raise a hand against you. We do not wish to end up on opposite sides of this battle. We fight a war that was born before your organisation existed and will march on when you are gone._

 

The swooping letters of the words ended in a blot of bright red that had soaked into and slightly warped the weighty paper. It didn’t take a vampire to know it was blood.

 

“It would seem that one of our spies was made,” Lucas said lowly as Integra finished reading, her eyes lingering on that blood spot. Evidently he had been reading along with her – _good, that will save time_. “Should I order our people home?”

 

“Why?” Integra frowned, addressing her butler but still focused on the letter in her hand – which she now turned over to see the unusual seal.

 

“It might be prudent to maintain a sensible distance from these,” – he gestured at the letter – “people, Sir.”

 

Lucas had an odd habit of suggesting courses of action to Integra as though Integra didn’t know her own business. She was often tempted to tell him to pack his bags – or teach his grandmother to suck eggs. Integra never had quite understood that expression. The thought did, occasionally, occur to her that she was starting to look her age, and that was encouraging the boy to make absurd comments. _Maybe it’s the light_.

 

“And let them believe we are afraid of _this?_ ” At last, she squinted up at Lucas’ freckled face.

 

A real look of concern pressed his features. Integra felt a pang of loss – of nostalgia – to see one so young with such an expression of pure compassion. There was once a time she might have reacted the same to the thought of men and women risking their lives for something as paltry as information. What was information, really? Besides half-a-dozen consolation letters and fresh job applications in the morning. The feeling was there and then gone; a blip in Integra’s mind, and then she was Sir Hellsing again.

 

“No. We carry on as before. Test the blood for DNA, I doubt there will be a match, but we must try.” She offered the letter up to him, bending it so the seal was most prominent. “What do you make of this?”

 

Lucas drew his lips thin; obviously less than pleased with the sudden change of subject. “A reference to the Statue of Liberty, perhaps? Or scripture? ‘I am the light of the world.’ Other than that, I’m afraid I have no idea.”

 

Integra hummed in response, resting her chin on her hand – a finger lying along the line of her lower lip. The letter she spread out in front of her on the desk. “This seal would have been put to better purpose sealing their death warrants,” Integra muttered darkly.

 

She sensed more than saw Lucas stir in surprise beside her; perhaps it was a little harsh, but Integra had had just about enough of these people dancing around in the shadows. The Director of Hellsing had less than no time for anyone who avoided the obvious conflict they were careening towards. Something would have to be done – forced, if necessary. Integra wanted this finished.

 

The woman folded the letter and gave it back to her butler. “Give the order; summon the Convention of Twelve.”


End file.
